TMNT: Dust of Life
by princessebee
Summary: Something's going down amongst the down and out of NYC. Can Raphael figure out what? Are the turtles able to help? Profanity, drug use, sexual references, violence. WINNER 3rd Place Best Hentai in Adult FanFic Awards.
1. Introduction

This story features an OC. An OFC, no less, which probably sets more than one alarm bell ringing for many. And fair enough, too.

People read fanfiction to read about the canon characters. OCs are not a high priority. I'm the same. I want plenty of action and IC adventure starring my favourite characters from whatever fandom it is.

So I understand the reluctance of many to embark on a fic featuring an OC.

I like OCs, if they're quality and don't dominate the story.

However, this story of mine will heavily feature my OC.

The character occurred to me when I was pondering Raphael's night time solitary adventures and the sort of things he might encounter. I love the dark and gritty side of the turtles' world (though adore the humour as well) and thought it would be an interesting angle for a story. I pondered the character and Raphael for a few days, she developed more fully in my head and finally I succumbed and wrote what I thought would be a one-shot only.

But once I'd started fleshing this character out and engaging her with the turtles, more ideas sprung to mind. I was also pleasantly surprised and flattered to receive feedback requesting more featuring this character.

So here we are.

The turtles, particularly Raphael, WILL feature heavily also in this tale and I will be doing my utmost to write them very much in character and do them justice through my portrayal. I guess Raph is my favourite, but I do love them all very much and will be honest and honourable in my treatment of them. Mikey, Leo and Don will feature more in later chapters, while Raphael and Amber, my OC, will dominate the first few chapters. Apologies for this.

There is also a most definite plot to this tale, that is set-up right from the start, although it might not be immediately apparent.

I am, however, first and foremost a character writer rather than an action writer. My main pleasure in writing stories is to explore personalities. There will be some action to complement the storyline, but it won't be a non-stop ninja battle fest.

So, having read all that, if you decide to plough on ahead and read this story, know that I am exceedingly appreciative and hope sincerely that you enjoy it.


	2. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER ONE**

**I**

Some things just never change.

The creep swings at me and I dodge it, easily, before slammin' my fist into his gut, just below his ribcage. He wheezes, stumbles, but I'm going easy on him. I want to enjoy this.

Behind me I hear the clatter of high heels striking pavement as his would-be victim runs away. That's right, lady, run. Get to safety. Get away from this.

I back up while he huffs to get his breath back, bent over, gasping. He keeps one eye on me and we circle each other. He should be keeping both.

He comes for me again and I move forward to meet him, his chest slamming hard against my plastron and we grapple. I flex against his shove, feel the tremor of tenseness run down my deltoids into my triceps. He's big, but like most big guys he takes it for granted. Doesn't train.

Not like me.

I assess his strength against mine and know I could throw him off easy.

But like I said, I want to enjoy this.

We wrestle for a few minutes like this in a fierce headlock. It might lack the grace and style of true ninja fighting, but damn, it feels good. His breath is foul against my face and I can hear the growl I'm barely conscious of making rise above his strained breath. I get bored all of a sudden and increase my force, driving him backwards. He slams down into the pavement and I back up, waiting for him to get up. I know he's too dumb not to.

Creeps like him are a dime a dozen in this town. Bullies, lookin' for their kicks pickin' on those weaker than them. Man, they're a dime a dozen the world over, giving cause to every worried parent, cop, teacher and husband to tell their girls not to go walkin' around alone after dark. I seen a hundred guys like him before and taken a hundred of them down. Somehow, it don't ever get old.

Only thing is, I've already taken this particular creep down before.

Guess I didn't make my message clear enough last time.

He's on his feet again, like I knew he would be. I leave my _sai_ sheathed – hand to hand is always more fun with scum like this, feeling the crunch of bone beneath my fist. Unexpectedly, he's gotten smart – turns to run. But I ain't lettin' him off that easy. The cops obviously did, and after I went to the trouble of leaving him gift-wrapped for them too. I figure it's time to make my point – loud and clear.

Some guys got a habit they just can't break.

So I gotta break it for them.

Three steps ahead, a forward tuck and one quick sweep and he's crashing hard on his haunches, grunting. I slog him a couple of times, his head snapping back so hard I know he's got whiplash. This city is like a hive, swarming with bugs all doing their part to make it tick. You got your royalty, the types who don't do nothin' but reap the goods off the backs of the grunts, who never stop. You got your soldiers, who crack the whips over the whole affair, and finally you got your predators, who watch from the sidelines and wait for their opportunity to pounce.

For a moment I don't think this guy is getting back up and then he surprises – or impresses – me. He's groanin' and holding his head at a funny angle, but he's got the look of death on his face and he's worn it just for me. He comes at me with a roar and I give him room to take a few potshots, ducking and twisting quicker than he can throw.

Thing is, the predators don't always look the way you expect them to. They're not always so easily identified. Too often they're hiding out in the ranks considered respectable, wearing the ugly mask of righteousness. Corporate crooks and crooked politicans. Too often they're calling the shots, hiding their sleaze behind the fingers they point, climbing to the top on the backs of scapegoats – most of whom seem to live in this neighbourhood. The down and out. Society's rejects. Mostly the biggest crime they've committed is not fitting in.

Kinda like me.

Of course, there are those who are just obviously scum. Kinda like this guy.

I'm bored now and decide to finish this guy off, once and for all.

I block his next swing and deliver one of my own, a roundhouse punch that comes at him a hundred miles an hour.

He slides to a stop five feet away, motionless. I flex my fingers, feeling the burn in my knuckles, and grin.

**II**

The sun had just set over the white brick building on Thistleway Avenue and the streets were painted a grimy lavender in the dying light. A block away a slight figure rounded the corner, hands thrust in the pockets of her too-large coat, shoulders hunched forward, boots stomping a sure path through the muck that coated the pavement. The coat hung shapelessly on her, the outline of her body indistinguishable beneath it. Teamed with the oversized sunglasses perched on her face, her long red hair pulled up into a sloppy bun, it only served to accentuate the gauntness of her scrawny neck and angular face, pale beneath the dozens of reddish-orange freckles that crammed over its surface. A stream of noxious smoke swirled upwards from the cigarette that hung limply from her lips, jerking up and down in time to the lyrics of whatever song she muttered beneath her breath as she walked. The fellow sweeping the pavement out the front of his porn shop nodded to her as she walked past and she jerked her head to him in response. An older woman in black spandex pants and leather jacket chatting to a nervous looking man in a cheap suit waved to her cheerfully and the redhead flashed her a brilliant grin before stepping out onto the street in front of an oncoming car, that slammed on its breaks and blared its horn angrily at her. The redhead ignored it, flicked the butt of her cigarette down, intent on her destination. Beyond the white brick building, the city was preparing itself for the evening, dozens of lights flickering on in apartment blocks and skyscrapers, neon pulsing with a vibrancy it lacked during the daylight. One large, squat monstrosity belched endless black smoke from its chimney, an ugly stain against the royal blue of an early night's sky.

The redhead reached the other side of the street and ran up the steps of the white brick building. Thistleway's, as it was known to the locals, was an "outreach centre". It's official title was The United Mission's Halfway House and Drop-In Centre, but not even its staff called it that. Easy way to send people running, a name like that. So when one of the locals had grafitied over the big sign that hung over the doorway, none of the staff had bothered to report it back to United Mission's head office. Thistleway's wasn't exactly top of the list for update visits either, so it wasn't noticed.

Inside was a big plain, shabby common room. One side was crammed with bare tables and chairs. In front of a padlocked door that led into the kitchen, a table stood. Three times a day, meals were served there. For now it was host to a mess of paper cups, cheap sugar, instant coffee and tea, and urns of ever-boiling water. The other side was littered with threadbare couches and easy chairs, an old TV crackling in the corner, stacks of months-old magazines and educational pamphlets scattered on most surfaces. In the center of the room, directly opposite the big doorway, was the reception desk. Harried-looking staff bustled about it, disappearing frequently into the store room behind it to fetch the supplies the visitors asked for.

The redhead noticed that despite the flurry of activity, the place seemed strangely quiet tonight. It had for a couple of nights. Only a couple of folk in front of the TV. More at the counter, but there always were. Old Maude and George sharing a cigarette and a coffee in front of the urn, Maude cackling a laughter like nails on a chalkboard. Just three staff on tonight and Harold was keeping them occupied, shouting over the top of the crackling old tunes on the boom box he always carried, calling for _more ice, more ice, more ice, _whatever he meant by that. It gave the redhead the chance to sneak by the counter without being noticed, through the couches to the door leading out to the shower cubicles.

She locked herself in one and stripped quickly, dumping her coat, knapsack and boots on the floor. Underneath she wore only a mini-dress in red, patterned in pink hearts with a ruffled skirt. It barely covered her scrawny rear end and the tag revealed it was a kid's size. She'd picked it up at a Goodwill, and it suited her purposes well enough. Beneath the dress she was naked, her pale body frighteningly emaciated and covered in splotchy bruises, especially concentrated in the crooks of both elbows and between her toes. She turned the faucets and the stream of water hit the tiles with a hiss. She paused to look in the mirror. She usually didn't bother but it had been so long since she'd seen herself. The mirror revealed the same face she'd gotten used to over the past six years. She'd never been a beautiful girl, but now she looked like a walking ghost, apart from her freckles and the red of her lashes and brows. Her cheeks were gaunt and her eyes were sunken. At least she had her smile – and it was her saving grace. No sultry glances from beneath lowered lashes for her, no provocative pouts – her one hundred watt smile was her key to success. Without it she was just an ugly little urchin. Her pupils were nothing more than pinpricks, a tiny black dot in the middle of her irises, and that sight was somehow reassuring to her. It had all happened.

The mirror was steaming over and she hopped quickly into the stall, scrubbing herself down with the cheap soap provided. She gasped as she went too roughly over the large, eggplant coloured bruise on her right hip, caused from being impaled on a joystick the night before when one client had gotten a little over enthusiastic. It would be nice if she didn't bruise so easily, but that's the way it was.

She dried herself with one of the stringy towels provided and dumped it into the washbasket, dressing again quickly.

Back out the front, Harold had departed and the place had calmed. Sarina, one of the staff, looked up as the washroom doors slammed behind the redhead, and a sudden alertness gripped her features. She rushed out from behind the counter and over to the redhead, words tumbling hastily from her lips:

"Amber! Hey! How are you tonight? Listen, I know you've got to get to work but I was hoping you could just spare five minutes to sit down and chat with me about how things are going for you. You know we've got a lot of new programs coming into effect here, a couple which you might be interested in, a couple of day courses in typing skills, cashier skills, we've got some great people from the local community college volunteering their time, we've also got some people from some of the surrounding twelve-step programs coming in to chat to anyone who's interested and I thought that you might have some time, Amber, what do you think?"

Throughout this tirade the redhead, Amber, repeated the same words in the same tired montone:  
"Just fits and condoms tonight please. Fits and condoms. Could you please get me some fits and condoms. I'd like some fits and condoms. Fits and condoms please. All I need are fits and condoms. Sarina. Fits and condoms. Thanks."

Finally, Sarina fell silent and Amber fixed her gaze quietly on the girl's face until, defeated, she turned and went into the storeroom and returned with some 22 gauge needles and a selection of condoms in different sizes. Amber thanked her and shoved the items into her knapsack, extracting herself a cigarette as she did and turning to go.

In a sudden wearied pique, Sarina called out after her: "You know, Amber, we're just trying to help. Five minutes, you know? I mean, we give you all that stuff you need for free."

Amber froze, her shoulders tight. Sarina blanched – some of these girls could get violent. Amber whirled back to face her, her expression blank as a board, fumbling in her knapsack until she withdrew a rumpled $100 bill, throwing it savagely at Sarina. The thin paper leapt limply on the air and fluttered to the scuffed vinyl tiles, only a few centimetres from Amber's boots. She said nothing, just lit her cigarette and whirled away again, storming to the front door. Remorseful, Sarina started out towards her.

"Amber, wait, I didn't mean – "

Amber snapped her head around, throwing her hands up in exaggerated nonchalance. "Forget it! I'll make it back in ten minutes. Add it to the fucking tip jar!" She spat, before bursting out onto the street again, leaping down the steps, scowling. Hallway down the street, Harold was idly pushing his trolley, head tipped upward to the sky, muttering to himself with Dizzy Gillepsie bubbling out of the scratchy old boombox speakers. She cheered a little to see him.

"Hey Harold, hows tricks baby?"

Harold snapped his head down, meeting her glance with a wide-eyed one.

"All missing!" He declared. "They're all missing!"

"Is that so, baby?" she drew hard on her cigarette and exhaled. "Better find 'em then, eh?"

Harold let go of his trolley and extended his arms outwards. "Missing! Gone!"

She didn't know what he was talking about, but she figured Harold probably didn't know either. For all she knew, he was talking about the impressive number of teeth he'd lost, revealed then when he roared upwards to the sky:

"_Missing! They've all gone missing! They've been taken! Taken! Lost, lost, lost!"_

Amber shrugged and continued. The weather was getting a touch warmer, thank God, and it looked like it was going to be a clear night. The vibe on the streets was good, energetic, cheerful and thrumming. When it was like this it always gave her a bit of a buzz, made her keen to face the night head on, face whatever it brought her. She could barely suppress a smile then. Maybe her guardian angel would come calling tonight. That was always an interesting diversion.

Sex shops, dirty book stores, bars, tobacconists and diners flashed by her as she pounded the pavements, keen to get to her beat. Down the street, a chubby fellow in a Stetson, leaning against the window of his old record shop saw her coming and pushed off of the glass, heading back inside. As Amber drew up to Lenny's Vintage Vinyl, Paul Young singing _Love of the Common People_ came blaring out onto the street and she laughed to hear it, restored fully to good humour, waving to Lenny before disappearing into the 24 Hour Diner next door to it, heading straight up the back to the booth where three other women sat, raucous and cheerful in the early evening quiet of the restaurant. They gave her shouts of welcome as she slid into the chair and she slapped hands with them before diving into the sugar bowl, ripping open packets of it and tipping it down her throat.

Amber was a prostitute, a street worker, and so were her three friends. There was Sam, a woman a few months shy of fifty with a gentle, crumpled and weather-worn face, a head of loose dreadlocks and sagging breasts. Lucinda, a plump, sensuous girl with a pretty face she made up with heavy red lipstick and dark lashes. Maria, a thirty-something mother of three from the Phillipines, and Georgie, African-American, heavily tattooed and close to six feet tall. Max, the guy who owned the diner, delivered black coffee to Amber's elbow and she went from dumping sugar packets down her throat to into her coffee as the boisterous table shared the latest gossip from the streets and swapped amusing stories of the mugs they'd seen lately, cackling with laughter at impersonations and ridicule. The streets would be quiet until late and the girls each found their own ways to kill time until then. Amber usually preferred just to read, but it was good to catch-up and be amongst friends, sometimes.

"Yo Amber, you seen that new cop that got working 35th?" Lucinda shouted as the little table began to disperse.

Amber wrinkled her nose. "No. He ain't a paperbag man, is he?" she queried, referring to the demographic of corrupt cops who needed to be paid off.

"Nuh-uh baby! He just a rookie! But I'm telling you, he's so fine I might just end up paying _him_ to spend some time with me!" and the group alternatively whooped and catcalled, or moaned in dismay.

"Don't even _say_ that!" Amber slapped her forehead. "Don't you even talk to him for free! Don't you talk to nobody for free!"

"Hey that reminds me – "Sam interjected as the motley group headed for the door. "I'm doing an interview tomorrow. Some people, university teachers or something, they're writing a book about the area and paying people to talk to them about their lives and shit. Hows that? Not bad eh?"

"Just make sure they pay you enough for their bedtime stories!" Georgie declared. "They get the thrills hearing _that_ over and over again, they oughta give you a thrill too – right where it counts!" And she ran a finger down Sam's stomach, jabbing it hard between her thighs so that they all screeched with laughter.

"Hey! You girls! You wanna carry on like that, you get out of here! This ain't a brothel you know!" Max shouted to them as they exited. But he didn't mean it, and they knew it.

**III**

It was close to dawn when Amber decided to call it a night and head over to Eva's. The chill in the air was sharp and she shivered inside her coat, though scarcely aware of it, hands as deep in her pockets as they could go, collar turned up to cover her ears.

No guardian angel. Not tonight.

Of course, she wasn't disappointed. Nothing was really predictable around here, and considering he liked to keep himself busy she didn't expect to see him much at all. At least, she never used to. Then it was always a pleasant surprise when he did appear, such as he ever did.

Her path took her past a bus shelter, still and silent in the freezing air. Curled up in one corner was an old woman, trembling violently, her eyes squeezed shut either in sleep or oblivion of some description. She was surrounded by bags, canvas and plastic, and had wrapped her arms and legs in wet toilet paper from the public bathrooms. It was a trick they all used – insulated you, kept you warm. Or warmer, anyway. Amber's eyes flickered briefly over the woman, barely noticing, before returning to the path in front of her. She was bone tired now, and keen, very keen to reach Eva's place and fix before it got much later. The angel had probably been busy delivering others that night, hellbent on that crazy mission he seemed so devoted to. He'd come back. He always did.

Amber found herself fumbling with the buttons of the thick black cotton coat. The weather really was getting warmer. Too warm for a coat like this at any rate. Pulling it off her shoulders she threw it into the bus shelter, where it hit the seat then slid to the pavement in a heap. She didn't need it weighing her down, that's for sure.

Lighting a cigarette, Amber crossed her arms over her breast and took off down the street again, moving far quicker than before, the skirt of her dress twitching over the tops of her skinny thighs.

**IV**

It's time to head back to the den.

I know it, but still I stall, playing for whatever time I got left.

Leo will be getting up soon. Which means interrogation time for me when I do get back.

Ah, screw him. Let Ol' Fearless stew in his shell. He can't touch me. At least I'm making a difference out here.

Just thinking about Leo is enough to make my jaw clench and I hurtle forward, pushing myself harder.

I'm leapin' from rooftop to rooftop, and I fake I'm not even thinking about it, just goin' where the wind takes me. That ain't true, of course. I know where I'm goin'. Soon enough, I'm there.

The old brownstone squats on a corner, crumblin' to pieces even as I look at it. This used to be a good neighbourhood. Fifty years ago. Now, it's a pit. Still, I know that decrepit brownstone is deceptive. There's a few rooms on the top floor, decked out like a penthouse in Manhattan with security to match. It's a well-kept secret, known to just a few trusted confidantes around the place. One of whom I'm waiting for.

I get closer to street level, perching on the balcony of a vacant apartment well out of a streetlight, hidden in the dark. I crouch down, and wait.

I don't have to wait long. Sure enough, far down the street, she appears, a mere speck of white and red. I can feel myself grinnin' as she draws closer even as I struggle with the keenness I'm experiencing. As she draws into sight I can see she's lost her coat altogether since the last time I saw her and my grin bends downwards, into a frown. Third time this winter. It's a freezing night and she's not exactly dressed for it. The dress she's wearing looks like a child's, it's so tiny and short. Her arms and legs are totally bare and she's got her arms crossed tight over her flat chest, her lips pressed into a hard, straight line, eyes boring straight ahead, like she's concentrating on everything but being cold.

She steps out of the pool of the streetlamp and back into darkness, crossing beneath the balcony I lurk upon.

I know I shouldn't stop her. Not when she's freezing and achin' for a fix. But I do anyway.

"Hey!"

She pulls up short, startled for a moment, then grins, but not looking up towards me.

"Hey." She responds. "Thought I wasn't going to see you tonight."

"Ah, I was in the neighbourhood. It was a busy night."

"Then you'll be in a good mood." She's dry about it, but I don't take it on. It has put me in a good mood.

"You better believe it. How about you?"

She shrugs. "Pretty good. Bit quiet but I made enough." Now that she's stopped moving, she's quaking violently though I don't think she's aware of it. Her foot is tapping on the pavement too, quick and frenetic. I know why. I know she doesn't even notice it. She's pleased to see me, but her thoughts are elsewhere.

"Lost another coat, did you?"

"Ah, it's getting too warm, baby, I dumped it. Got nowhere to keep it. Don't want it weighing me down."

"You must be fucking crazy. It's barely positive out here."

I wonder if it's the junk that makes her oblivious. I can't think of any other reason.

She waves a hand around in the air, agitated and distracted. "Got other things on my mind. I'll get another one from the Goodwill tomorrow."

I cock my head though I know she can't see it. "They're shut by the time you wake up."

She shrugs again, a flash of irritation creasing her brow. Her lips have been whipped blood red by the cold air. "I'll sort it out, baby. Aren't you afraid you're gonna blow your cover?"

The sky is lightening – rapidly. In a couple of minutes it'll be light enough for her to catch the shape of me through the balcony rail. That can't happen.

"I'll see you 'round, Amber."

"Yeah." She's blasé before suddenly calling up: "Hey, don't be such a stranger, huh?"

I pause, smile silently where I hide. "I'll be watching."

I'm gone before she can respond, scaling the wall quick, onto the roof and darting towards the horizon where the first pale glow of sunlight is appearing.

**V**

Deep below the city, there was more activity happening than the squabbling and scavenging of rats.

Leonardo slammed the fridge shut, banged the juice bottle onto the table, stamped over to the cupboards, threw open the doors and snatched out a glass. His usual meditation that morning had done nothing to calm him. He'd been too agitated to achieve a deep concentration and that had only irritated him further.

He poured himself a glass of juice with savage carelessness, slopping some onto the table. He couldn't suppress a low growl of frustration at that, and then felt even more annoyed. He should be able to get a hold of his emotions. This excess of aggression was unbecoming and undignified. Too much like Raphael – _Raphael._ His irritation flared up again and he threw the dishtowel he'd just used to mop up the juice hard across the kitchen, just as Donatello entered. The dishtowel hit the doorframe near Donatello's head before dropping limply to the floor. Donatello glanced down at it, alarmed, before lifting an eye ridge at his brother, who had kicked out a chair and slumped down in it, holding his juice glass between both hands.

"I'm gonna take a wild guess and say this has something to do with Raphael?" He enquired, to which Leonardo sighed and rubbed his eyes.

"What gave it away?"

Donatello grinned, fetching a packet of waffles from a cupboard. "There's a certain type of irritated fervour you get whenever you two lock heads."

In a sudden rush of exasperation, Leonardo slammed his fists down on the table, splashing the juice again.

"You know, it's bad enough when he goes out with Casey until all hours, getting up to Heaven knows what." He exclaimed. "But when he doesn't bother to come home at all? I mean, doesn't he ever think about us when he's out there carrying on?"

Donatello shrugged, keeping a safe distance from the table and the endangered juice. "It's Raph, Leo. He's not trying to upset you. He just can't help it."

"Then he's too tired to train properly, to do anything around the den – to spend any time with us! I mean, I'm leaving soon!" Leonardo railed on. Now that he'd started, it seemed he could not stop. It made him feel worse – he _should_ take a deep breath, calm himself and gather his thoughts. Weakness like this was inexcusable. This was part of the reason Splinter was sending him away –

Donatello watched his brother silently, chewing through untoasted waffle. There wasn't much that could put the usually calm and level-headed Leonardo offside, but differences with Raphael would guarantee it. Leonardo's passions ran as deep as his hot-headed brother's, it's just that he usually focused them differently.

Beyond the kitchen, the skidding of Michelangelo's skateboard suddenly rose in a sudden catastrophic harmony with the youngest turtles' whoops and the hammering pulse of whatever music he'd put on at volumes too loud to be in any way discernible. Leonardo and Donatello glanced at each other, Donatello daring his brother to smile with one of his own.

After a moment, Leonardo's shoulders visibly relaxed and he relinquished his temper, pushing back his chair to stand.

"C'mon." Donatello said. "It's time to train. That should cheer you up."


	3. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

**VI**

Amber loved the new coat. For one thing, it wasn't a man's coat. For another, it was bright red and lined in soft, curly lambs wool. It was still two sizes too big for her, but that was hardly the key issue. The tiger print coat – that had fit. It was still her favourite. But it was gone now. A sudden cold snap had come in, running the slightly elevated temperatures right back down again. There was even the possibility it might start to snow again. She hoped not.

Maria was just leaving Thistleway's as Amber approached, a troubled look on her face.

"Hey darlin', what's up?" She queried her friend and Maria darted forward, grasping her thin wrist.

"Oh Amber, please, I need your advice. I don't know what to do." The crease of worry was deep in her forehead and although solving someone else's problems hadn't been first on Amber's list of things to do that night, she responded to her friend, pausing to ask what the trouble was.

"My daughter has been very sick this winter so it has been hard for me to go out and work." Maria explained in halting English. "So my rent has fallen behind. I must work hard now to make it up but the people in here – they keep asking me to come in and do their classes. In the daytime when I should sleep or be taking care of my children."

Amber felt the flare of anger in her left temple, right behind her eye. "I know. Just tell them no, Maria. Tell them you can't."

Maria's dark brown eyes filled with tears and she shook Amber's wrist, hard. "I don't know how to say this! I try to explain to them but they say it's important for me that I get other skills so I can stop working this way. They are so kind and always help me so I do not feel that I can say no. But I need much money, Amber, so much and they cannot give me it. I must work but they don't understand. Every day this week I come to their classes Amber and now they say they want me to come again tomorrow. I not work at all this week!"

Amber was disbelieving, staring at Maria with wide, filmy eyes. "Aren't you heading off to start now?"

Maria's distress was palpable. "No! I just finished here today. Now I go home. Maybe come back later and try to work but it's so hard because I get too tired. I have no money for babysitter, no money for rent. Amber, what can I do?"

Amber barely heard the rest. The drug pumping through her veins was still fresh, spurring her ferociously on, igniting the thin thread of her temper so that her gaze smeared red and hot. Pushing past Maria she stormed up Thistleway's steps, thrusting the door open and hurtled towards the counter.

"You fucking smug bastards, what the fuck do you think you're doing?" She screeched, whilst the staff froze, staring wide-eyed at her in dismayed alarm. "Why don't you fucking understand? You're not helping us! She needs to work, she needs to make real money. She can't pay her fucking rent with fucking typing skills! You just won't be happy until you have her making eight dollars a fucking hour selling burgers will you? Just fucking well leave her alone, leave her alone and forget your fucking charity until it means something real! Something real to US." Amber was slamming her fists on the counter, stomping her feet, lost in a paroxysm of drug-fuelled fury while the other customers cheered her on, excited by the unexpected drama. She kicked at the counter, continuing to scream and swear at the staff who'd regained control of themselves – such outbursts from customers were not so rare – and were requesting calmly that she settle down or leave.

"Come on now, Amber," said Gary, a lithe gay man who often worked the difficult night shifts. "You're upsetting the others." He took her gently but firmly by the arm as she swore and spat at him.

"You're a bunch of smug cunts, you know that?"

"Come on now," he remained gentle, leading her towards the door. "You know we can't have that sort of thing in here. Come back later when you've settled down and I'll make you a cup of tea."

"Fucking sanctimonious cocksuckers." Amber wrestled free of him, wiping at her red eyes, further incensed to find them wet. She ran to the bottom of the stairs onto the street and screamed then continued to throw obscenities back towards the building. The locals continued to move around her, disinterested, used to such scenes.

"You fucking pricks! You don't have a fucking clue about us! Stop telling us what you think we need! You don't know! Fuckers! You're only trying to help your fucking selves! We don't need your fucking help! Why don't you listen to us! Fuck you! Fuck you!"

A passing cop car pulled into the curb and an officer stuck his head out of the window.

"Come on, Amber, quiet down and move along."

"They're fuckers!" she whirled around and screeched at the car. The officer held up his hand.

"Amber, if you don't calm down I'll have to take you in for the night. Now move along."

Somehow, through the fog of her anger, Amber found herself and quieted, panting hard, her lean face blotchy. Maria, who had stood back to watch the scene silently, came forward to put an arm around the girl's skinny shoulders. The cop car waited patiently until Amber finally spun around and stormed off, cursing under her breath, Maria darting to keep up.

"Oh my friend, I think it is my fault you so upset!" Maria was more dismayed now and it penetrated Amber's furious haze so that she slowed her step and took a deeper breath.

"It's not your fault, Maria. It's their fault. " she tried to explain. "It's not right for them to pressure you into going there and not working. If they really cared, they'd understand that. They'd listen to you."

She could feel her nose running and sniffed hard, wiping at her face with split knuckles. "You gotta get home to your kid, yeah?"

Maria nodded, her brow still crinkled with concern, gripping Amber's other hand tight. "You will be ok, Amber?"

She managed a grin. "Always am, baby. I'll catch ya."

The two women separated, Maria heading for the train station, Amber turning towards the street that led to her beat. Burying her hands deep in her pockets she sniffled, then coughed, hard. Her cough had gotten worse this winter, but that was to be expected. She fetched a cigarette from deep inside one pocket. Her hand trembled so hard she had to pause mid-step to get it lit. She sure wasn't in the mood to start work, not yet anyway.

On sudden impulse she diverted her path, turning down a side street and heading towards the strip where a group of lively nightclubs sat. She worked too hard anyway. It was time to do something fun, for a change.

**VII**

Somehow, I managed to avoid Leo all week.

I knew it couldn't last, but I'd take it for now.

I knew he'd be pissed too.

Whatever. He was about to split on us. Indefinitely. What was a night here and there for me?

But of course, the rules are always different for me.

I was crouched on the scaffolding of some new high-rise, high up where the wind was really nasty. Can't believe how the weather had turned this last week. I was surveying the horizon, thinking about where I'd start tonight, which block to visit first. I never planned much beyond that, a starting point. After that, it was up all to them. The scum. They made my path for me.

Ah, my neighbourhood.

It sprawled before me, row after row of glitterin' neon and buzzin' activity interspersed sharply with pitch black corners and deadly silent stretches. I can just make out the tips of Thistleway's, a few blocks beyond it some kind of factory that seemed to be burning the midnight oil, the filth of whatever it was producing still spewing up from its chimney. To the north, apartment blocks and other residential buildings cram side by side as though holding each other up. Behind the doors, people scream, throw things, drink, eat cheap takeout, and keep double-barrelled shot guns next to their armchairs. Over to the south there's a group of nightclubs. They're not trendy – it ain't a fashion statement to be seen in one of them – but they've got their own brand of cool to those who like to slum. The locals got their own clubs, hidden in old warehouses and gutted homes. It's only a two minute walk from the nightclubs to the 'pubic triangle' – the two or three blocks dominated by the strip clubs, porn shops and brothels that keep it pumpin' twenty-four hours a day.

Ah, my neighbourhood.

An icy wind skims over my head and shoulders, and I crouch down lower, grinding my teeth against it. It reminds me of the suit. I'd only worn it once or twice so far. It was going to take some getting used to – I was accustomed to working free and unfettered. The suit moved easily with my body but it was cumbersome.

But warm.

Time to get movin'. I'd start with Amber. She'd gotten herself a new coat but I'd picked up a couple of other things she might find useful. I checked the sack that held them was secure to my shell and set off.

Moving quickly now I leapt down the scaffolding, spinning and twisting, taking the opportunity to practice a few tucks and somersaults. Would I be able to do this sort of thing in the suit? I guess I wouldn't know unless…

… I hit street level. Darted forward. Scaled the nearest wall, not even grunting. If Leo knew the kind of training I did out here he wouldn't be so pissed when I miss practice. Talk about heavy-duty endurance conditioning.

Of course, with the suit I wouldn't have to be so concerned about staying out of sight all the time.

I check out the activity below as I move, spying the locals moving about their business as usual. I've moved five blocks and still haven't seen Harold. Haven't seen him for a few nights. He's probably just gone to a shelter for a while, while the weather's so cold. Smart.

I reach Amber's street – Redfern – and move across the rooftops, close to the edge but still stickin' in the shadows.

I can hear the beat of _Black Betty_ pulsing outta Lenny's as I get closer to Amber's spot. It's a favourite of mine and puts me in a good frame of mind. I look out over the street. Even in this weather, people wanna party. The neon is bright, reds and pinks splashing across the icy pavement, cars whizzing past and blaring horns at each other. A group of young guys are hooting and hollering as they dance down the streets, already three sheets to the wind and ducking into the door of the nearest strip joint. Buck's party, looks like.

Amber is not in her spot. But that ain't so unusual. Probably with a client. I'll wait till she gets back then follow her with the next mug, catch her afterwards.

I wait half an hour and start to get agitated. I know some guys will book a girl off the streets for the whole night but Amber usually doesn't like to. She loses tolerance for their company pretty quickly. Still, on a cold night like this she might've been more agreeable. Nothin' to worry about.

I can't wait around forever to find out, either. No telling who else has come out to play this evening.

Reluctantly, I abandon my post and move forward again. Damn, I'd wanted to dump the weight of the sack on my back as soon as I could. Guess I'm stuck with it a while yet. I move towards the clubs. Often a brawl or two happening around there, brought on by too much liquor. I could use something like that to warm me up, before getting ready for the real fights.

I've moved a few blocks and take a glance downwards to check out the street situation and can't believe my luck to catch Amber there, wandering the streets all wrapped up in that too-big red coat she's gotten her hands on. I'm grinnin' again and wait for her to pass by beneath me before following her, enjoying the chase, sailing high above her head to span the space between two rooftops, amused by how she never knows. Finally she reaches a street that's silent, almost deserted, and I hiss down at her.

"Psst! Amber!"

Startled, she drops the cigarette she was lighting and swears, squatting down to retrieve it and the lighter, which rolled away. I chuckle, too quiet for her to hear. "So much for street-savvy."

"Shutup." She mutters irritably. "If you just want to give me a hard time, save your strength."

"Come 'round the corner into the laneway. I got something for you.'

I duck away before she can answer, sliding down the wall and positioning myself on a dark window ledge. A moment later she comes around the corner, puffing on her cigarette, an eyebrow raised disinterestedly.

"You know how many times guys tell me they got something for me?" She asks me. "Your answer better not be the same as theirs, buster. Because I seen enough of them and they're never what they're promised to be."

Her voice is dark with humour and I laugh. "You wish." And she snickers back. I pull the sack off of my back and toss it towards her. "Here".

It lands with a dull thud near her feet and she ashes her cigarette, glancing down at it curiously.

"What, are you playing Santa Claus now?"

"Ho, ho, ho"

"Is that some kind of really fucked up joke?"

It feels good to laugh with her. She squats in the laneway to open up the sack, pull out what's inside. She's trying to be blasé but I can see the keenness on her face as she pulls out the gloves, scarf and hat in there. They're not new. People leave bags of their unwanted junk outside of April's joint all the time, seeming to think 'second-hand' and 'antique' are one and the same. Most of it she can't use but some of it she keeps in the backrooms, if it ain't past its use-by date.

"Neat!" she exclaims when she pulls out the kid's winter cap, in leopard fur with little ears sewn onto it. I figured she'd like that. "How much you want?"

"Come on, kiddo," I rumble. "I ain't charging ya."

Even in the semi light I can see she flushes but she keeps her voice cool. "You really taking this guardian angel thing seriously, huh?"

I think again of the suit, of the anonymity it grants me, of the message it sends.

"Maybe. Time will tell."

"I don't need the charity."

"I know. But you musta shared a few bottles of booze with me by now." She's pulled on the hat, then winds the scarf around her neck. "Try not to lose them, eh."

She shrugs and jams her hands into the gloves, pink and purple stripes. "It's an unpredictable world, Raphael. You gonna come down here so I can give you a thank you kiss?"

"Nope."

She straightens again and flashes a toothy grin to where she thinks I am. "That's good. I don't kiss."

"Well then neither of us have to compromise ourselves, do we."

She's laughing silently as she fumbles in her knapsack, pulling out a bottle. She's always got something, usually gin or vodka. Tonight it's scotch and I'm pleased. The liquor hits my belly and pools outwards in a fiery stream. It feels like coming home, takes the chill off.

"So why weren't you working?"

She shrugs and lights another cigarette, her hands shaking. Her hands always shake.

"Pissed off at the world, baby. Needed to clear my head. Can't take the whole night off, though. Got a routine to keep."

"Should I ask?"

"What?"

"What pissed you off?"

She sighs, crosses an arm over her chest, begins to pace up and down. "Same old shit. So fucking tired of being treated like a project. And you? Vent any frustrations on unsuspecting sleazebags yet?"

"Night's just startin' for me, sweet cheeks. You know I'll do my best."

She's side-on to me, cigarette dangling from one gloved hand, leopard hat jammed down on her head, cocked to one side gazing up to where I hide, the light from the streets shining softly in pale red hair. When she smiles then she looks almost beautiful; there's a soft, unguarded look in her eyes and I feel something stir in the pit of my gut.

There's the sudden roar of a car engine, the harsh beam of headlights, as a vehicle screeches to a halt outside the laneway. I move quick, clambering back up to the darkness of the roof, but she's already turned her head to the car at the commotion.

"Hey sweetheart, you looking for a date?" I can hear the driver of the car shout over the thump of his music and Amber hollers back:

"You bet I am, baby!"

And she darts over to the passenger door, boots clomping on the asphalt. It opens with a click and she whirls around quickly, gazing upwards, searching the rooftops. Looking for me, I realise. But she won't find me. So instead she kisses her gloved palm and waves it furiously in the air before vanishing backwards into the car seat, slammin' the door shut behind her. The driver takes off with a squeal of the tyres and I watch as they rev around the corner, and vanish, feeling the tightening in my throat.

My mood's suddenly turned sour.


	4. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

**VIII**

"Yes! Oh yes! Yes, yes, yes! That's right, baby!"

Raphael rolled his eyes at the sound of Michelangelo's ecstatic voice downstairs in front of the television. Either the youngest turtle had just reached a new games score, or one of his dozen or so celebrity crushes was gracing the screen.

Raphael did not bother with the stairs, instead leaping over the rail that encircled the den's communal space, landing lightly on the cement below.

Michelangelo was crouched on the couch, leaning as far forward over his knees as was possible without completely loosing his balance, grinning widely at the flickering screen on which an unbelievably gorgeous woman in a denim mini skirt and tank top sauntered.

Raphael leaned on the back of the couch and yawned, scratching his plastron. "Awright, Mikey, even I'm impressed. Who is that?"

Michelangelo did not tear his eyes from the screen, on which the girl was now being persuaded to get into a yellow car with some geek. "Only the bringer of unrequited lust and deliverer of frustration and torment to the hearts and loins of boys and men everywhere, dude – that's Megan Fox!"

"Fox?" Raphael repeated, unable to suppress a grin, eyes similarily glued to the taut, tanned stretch of Megan's midriff.

"I know dude," Michelangelo swooned. "With a name like that, it had to be fate!"

"What show is this anyway?" Raphael didn't spend much time watching television, but Michelangelo had a regular rotation he was passingly familiar with.

"Are you kidding? This is the new Transformers movie! Donnie downloaded it today!"

"Whoah!" Raphael leapt over the couch and settled down next to Michelangelo. Movies were another story altogether, particularly movies that featured giant robots smashing things up.

They watched in comparative silence for a few more moments until a close up of Megan Fox's beautiful face at which point Michelangelo groaned and flopped back onto his haunches.

"Man, I don't know how much more of this I can take!" He exclaimed and Raphael flicked him a curious glare.

"What you talkin' about?"

"This." Michelangelo flicked a large green hand at the screen then gestured downwards at himself. "And this! Girls, you know? Dude, I am going freaking _nuts_."

Raphael was silent, folded his arms across his plastron, staring ahead. Michelangelo sighed and nudged his brother.

"Don't you feel it too, Raph? C'mon!"

Raphael scowled and shoved Michelangelo away. "Yeah, I know, Mikey, I know. Okay? I don't see the point in talkin' about it though. I'd rather forget it."

"Man, I can't forget it!" Michelangelo moaned, thrusting his face into his hands. "It's on my mind all the time! TV shows and magazines just ain't cutting it anymore. How often do we come into contact with any chick who isn't April – or an alien – or a monster – or a – well, how often, dude, I mean, seriously. It isn't fair!"

Raphael continued to stare ahead, eyes fixed on the television screen though not taking in the action. He was thinking of the women he encountered on the streets above – the ones he rescued, or helped out. His thoughts went to lipsticked smiles and bright eyes, thanking him or cheering him on. Curvy figures in tight clothes, warm and soft beneath his touch as he moved them to safety. And one slight girl, plain but compelling, with huge blue eyes and a sardonic smile.

"Maybe you oughta switch the TV off then, Mikey." He muttered to his brother, launching himself off the couch and towards the den's exit, leaving the young turtle staring after him for a moment before shrugging and turning back to the screen.

**IX**

The bike hums between my legs, growlin' like a tiger. It's unreal to be down here, on the streets, coasting past the cars and pavements littered with people, chokin' with 'em, right out here in front of them all and not one of 'em sparing me so much as a second glance.

I can feel adrenalin flood my veins the further I go. What had I been waitin' for? This is where it's at!

The neighbourhood seems weirdly quiet for the time of night, a few faces conspicuous in their absence. I wonder if the police have done a raid recently, fillin' their quota for the month on easy arrests. Fuckin' useless. I grip the handlebars harder and accelerate.

I tear around the corner and rip up Redfern Street, puttering to a halt a few feet from Amber's beat. She's there, smokin' as usual, dancin' as usual, to _Ashes to Ashes._ David Bowie. She's singin' for Lenny who claps in beat and laughs, her hair swinging out from beneath the cap I gave her. Another girl, a black woman who looks like she oughta be a model, wanders past, calling out a greeting.

"Hey, you seen Sam about lately?" she asks Amber who shakes her head and grinds her cigarette out beneath her boot.

"Nada," Amber responds. "Figured she'd split town for a bit."

"Yeah, probably. Have a good night, hey?"

"You too, baby."

I start up the bike again and pull to a halt in front of where Amber jives. She lets out a whoop of delight and cackles, clapping her hands.

"Oh yeah, baby, that's what I'm talkin' about!" she exclaims. "That's some fine piece of hardware you got between your legs, sweet thing!"

Inside the helmet I'm grinnin', but she can't see that.

"Lookin' for a date?" I ask her with heavy sardony and her eyes widen at the sound of my voice.

"Raphael?" she gasps and when I nod, curtly, she shrieks with laughter, and jumps in an hysterical circle. Man, she's high tonight.

"You fucker! You finally reveal yourself to me, and you're the fucking tinman? THIS is your big secret? That's fucking hilarious!"

A few straggling pedestrians are unnerved by her vulgarity and lack of restraint, but I'm findin' it somewhat infectious. I pat the seat, behind me.

"Come on. I'll take ya for a ride."

She stops laughing and stares at me, bloodshot eyes wide, her pupils pinned in their center.

"Are you serious?" she whispers, grinning, and I nod.

"As a heartattack."

She screams and throws herself across the sidewalk and onto the back of the bike.

"Go baby, go!" she exclaims and I hit the throttle, tearing off into the night.

We're pelting down Crown St, the roar of the engine splitting the night like a claw raked down its side. I swerve from lane to lane, ducking in and around vehicles, taking one corner so sharp my knee tingles at the proximity of the asphalt. Amber shrieks behind me and I feel her shift to lift her leg higher, her knee jammed into my hip.

We're in back streets now where it's quieter. True, the busy spots are more fun but I don't want anyone to get hurt. I'd headin' to where I know there's a construction site, long shut up at this time of night. The ground hasn't even been levelled yet and dips up and down in natural curves. I take 'em full speed, feeling my gut pitch down as we go up in that brief illusion of flyin'. We slam back down to the dirt and I can hear Amber whoopin' behind me, her arms tight about my waist. She leans forward and I hear her sceam: "Faster, faster!" And I grin before obligin' so that the world streaks and runs around us. She leans back, her groin pressed to the base of my shell, her fingers entwined together across my plastron, and screams at the sky.

When we get off the bike her knees shake and she has to sit down in the earth for a moment.

"Vertigo!" she giggles. I stand close by, but not too close, in case she pukes. Instead, she pulls out her bottle of booze for a drink. I've got to refuse – can't take a drink in the helmet, and she snorts at that before staggering to her feet, using the bike heavily as a prop.

"Come on," I gesture to her and she follows me, follows me to a run down old apartment block and up its rusted fire escape to the roof. She's out of breath before we reach the top and I reach back down and grasp hold of one skinny arm, pulling her up the rest of the way. The way she looks at me is impressed and I'm glad she can't see my expression.

"Well," she mutters, lighting a cigarette as we arrange ourselves on the roof ledge, surveying the city silhouetted and sparkling against the night sky, "that's the biggest thrill I've had in my life lately. "

"No cracks about having a great hunk of throbbin' machinery between your legs?"

She shrugs and exhales, the smoke grey and thick in the night air. "Thought about it but decided it was overdone. Anyhow, you were expectin' it."

Her gaunt cheeks are red from the force of the air against her face and her lips are flaking. She rubs her nose and sniffles, draws on her cigarette and blinks bleary eyes before coughing hard. I think about Mikey at home with his stunning celluloid date and wonder who has the better deal. She looks up at me, sees that I'm watching her – or that my head is angled towards her at least - and half-smiles.

"Fucking weird bein' able to see you, yet not see you, if you know what I mean."

I look back out to the city before us and drum my fingertips. "That's the way it is, kiddo. Gotta protect my secret identity and all."

"Guess it's a step forward at any rate. Suppose you can't be my mysterious guardian angel if I know al your secrets."

I stretch my arms above my head, feeling the fabric stretch over my flesh. It's a good feelin', knowing I can be seen, and relax about it. No need to hide. Can beat up the baddies and not betray myself. Can ride the streets and pull up besides a carful of kids. Can take a girl for a ride on my bike. Sit next to her on a rooftop.

What had I been waitin' for?

So we sat there, chatting for a while before lapsing into companionable silence. Now and again I thought about what Mikey had said earlier thenI'd shoot her a glance, secure in knowing she couldn't see it. It wasn't like being near April, who was more family now than anything else – though I'll admit to once thinkin' of her differently. And Amber was anythin' but my dream girl. But it felt good. She took me as I was, didn't ask too many awkward questions, laughed at my jokes, was happy to see me. It was kinda excitin', in a way, being so near a female who wasn't a ninja warrior or a time traveller or an alien or one of your best friends, or hell, even someone who's life you were savin' - even if she wasn't exactly a looker. Just a regular girl. Well, kind of regular. With the suit on I could feel myself unwindin', even, more at ease with myself and the sense of camaraderie increased.

Amber flicked ash onto the ledge where it sparked bright orange for a second before fading out.

"I was so pissed off I thought I'd take the night off, go do somethin' fun, somethin' normal," she was telling me. "So I went down to a nightclub. Thought I'd hang out, have a few drinks, dance, flirt or somethin', I dunno."

I cocked my head. "Mistake?"

She snorted. "_Big_ mistake." She pushed the cap up high on her head and sighed. "You shoulda seen these yuppies, man, slummin' this side of town in their suits and shining dresses, cosmos in hand, all arranged in one big massive self-congratulatory circle jerk." I had to laugh and she chuckled a bit too. "I just ended up feelin' like a bigger freak than ever."

"Man, do I know how that feels." I realise our conversation is happening on a different level. We're talkin' like friends, rather than secretive vigilante and tough-talking street walker. That feels good, too. "Sometimes I wish there was no need to hide, not even under this freakin' suit. That I could just walk the streets as I am, and be accepted. You know what it feels like, to know you can't let people see you the way you are because they'll freak out, lynch ya or lock you up?"

She fixes her watery blue eyes on me for a long moment. Her pupils aren't so tiny anymore and there's something deeply sad in their depths. I hope she ain't pityin' me.

"No." She says finally. "I don't." There's no pity there and we both turn to look across the city in silence.

"Fuck me." Amber says, unscrewing the lid on her bottle. "Check that out."

I look to where she's jerking her head. It's a big building, squat and long, an old factory. On top of it a massive chimney is puffing great clouds of thick black smoke into the sky.

I shrug. "N.Y.C."

"I thought that kinda thing was illegal these days." She remarks and half shakes her head.

"Hey, you're bitchin' about them pollutin' the air when you junk up your own body?" I'm amused but she throws me a dirty look.

"Speakin' of which, are you gonna give me a ride back? I gotta fix."

"What?" I sit up straight and turn towards her. "Thought you only did that a coupla times a night."

She snorts and half-laughs, shaking her head. "I always head off in the middle of the night to top up. Can't get through otherwise. You know how long I been doin' smack? Twice ain't enough anymore."

I turn away again, feeling my shoulders tense up, my fists clench. She waits a moment and then pushes herself to her feet, fumbling with her knapsack.

"Look, you don't have to ride me back. I can walk. Thanks for the ride, baby. Most fun I've had in a long while. Really. Really beautiful. I'm glad you took me. " She walks over to me and drops a hand onto my shoulder. I don't look at her. "This was the best bit."

She swings awkwardly over the side onto the fire escape and begins climbing down. "Don't be a stranger, baby." Is the last thing she calls out.

I sit there only a moment longer before remembering the real reason I should be wearin' the suit. Then I move.

**X**

On her way back from Eva's, her veins singing with renewed pleasure, Amber bumped into Maria and the two hugged tightly beneath the yellow neon of a liquor store.

"Good to see ya workin', baby!" Amber was truly pleased and Maria's face was no longer so tensed with worry.

"Yeah, I'm back on the streets girlfriend!" Maria crowed and the two laughed and gripped hands.

"Also, I going to do interview." Maria told her and Amber wrinkled her forehead.

"Interview?"

"Yes, yes. These people, they writing a book on New York underworld. They offer you five hundred dollars and they do a tape with you talking. I going there tomorrow. It will help to make up the work I missed."

Amber shook her head and shrugged. "That's your choice, baby. Just don't tell them anythin' you don't wanna, ok? I fuckin' hate researchers."

Maria's gentle face creased in a smile and she gave Amber's shoulder a pat. "Don't worry, my friend. I'm more tough than I look."

Amber laughed and moved around her friend, jerking her head in farewell. "I know it, baby. Catch ya!"

Amber was still feeling pumped from the bike ride with the angel. The slightly sour note the encounter had ended on hadn't phased her – she was accustomed to people responding badly to her addiction. She thrust her hands deep into her pockets and grinned to herself, recalling the easy way he'd pulled her up onto the roof. Not that she weighed much, but she'd still been impressed. She'd touched his arms at one point too, and found them solid as rock. And his chest – it was so hard it felt like some kind of armour. And the pack on his back looked heavy. Man! She wondered what kind of deformity he had to make him so defensive about being seen. Maybe it was some kind of skin condition, like an alligator man. Maybe he'd been all scarred up in some freak accident. One thing was for sure, there was no way he was sporting any physical disability – the guy was built and moved like an athlete.

Amber was wrapped up in her thoughts, cigarette clamped between her teeth and shoulders hunched over, and so didn't see the petite blonde woman with the keen smile and bulging knapsack approaching her until her direct path was blocked.

"Amber, right?" The woman asked and Amber recoiled, startled.

"Who wants to know?" She eyed the woman warily, two lone women in a standoff on the pavement outside a greasy kebab shop.

"My name's Rachel." The woman said. "I'm from Thistleways."

"Oh what?" Amber got instantly angry, backing away. "You people are accosting us on the fuckin' streets now?"

"Wait, wait, it's not what you think." Rachel held up an entreating hand and hastened to explain. "We've got a new outreach program delivering condoms and stuff around to the workers. But that's not why I've approached you. I know you've had a few rough experiences with the centre and I know you're working, but I'd really appreciate it if you listened to me for just a moment."

The woman was hopeful, but she wasn't begging or pleading and it made Amber stop her retreat, though she still eyed the woman off with a grim set to her jaw.

"Thistleways is undergoing changes, to make it more effective as an organization." The woman went on to explain. "It's moving towards becoming an entirely peer-staffed organization. Do you know what that is?"

Amber hesitated, wondering if she should engage this woman further, then shook her head.

"It means that Thistleways will only be staffed by people who have real life experience in the issues the organization deals with. Take me for example – I'm a sex worker, like you."

Amber blinked slowly, trying to make sense of what she'd just heard. "What?" she asked slowly and Rachel nodded encouragingly.

"I'm a prostitute. Current. I worked street when I was younger but now I work as a private escort. This is the direction that Thistleways wants to move in. Amber, there's a new parttime position opening for intravenous drug using sex workers. I was wondering if you'd be interested in applying. The interviews start in a month and a half."

It had to be the smack. She must've dosed a bit heavier than usual and was hallucinating. Maybe she was still back in one of Eva's backrooms, passed out. Amber shook her head, trying to clear it. The woman, Rachel, had not taken her eyes off Amber but was fumbling in her knapsack, withdrawing a sheet of paper that she held out to Amber. With trembling fingers, Amber took it.

"Injecting Drug User? Sex Worker?" the pamphlet read, "Then we need your skills and expertise!" It went on to detail the position and application details with a contact phone number and Thistleways address. Amber glanced sharply at Rachel.

"Is this for real?"

Rachel was smiling, pleased at her interest. "You bet. Thistleways just hasn't been effective as it currently operates. We need people who understand the needs of those we deal with."

Amber could not help laughing, a hollow sarcastic sound. "I got one need, baby. One. Smack. Everything else I do – everything else I need, is all about that. I need money to get smack, I need lots of it and I need it quickly. I need a job that won't interfere with me taking smack. Both these things mean I need to have sex for money. Do _you_ get that, little Miss Private Escort?"

Rachel was not offended. "I do, Amber. There's been a lot of talk about you at the centre. We could really use someone with your level of skills and knowledge. "

Amber felt furious suddenly, though she couldn't say why, and shouted with laughter. "Skills? What the fuck? I'm a smackhead whore, I didn't even finish high school!"

"Well, that's something we can talk about more if you come in to chat." Rachel said pleasantly. "But Amber, you do have a lot of skills. You use a lot in your work and you have a lot of knowledge about injecting. There's been a story going around that you showed a few kids in Harlem how to shoot up properly."

Alarmed, Amber backed up again, holding one arm out in front of her. "Hey now, don't go there, bitch. Those kids were going to do it anyway, I just showed 'em how to do it safely."

"Exactly!" Rachel was beaming now and it was freaking Amber out. Had she stepped into a time warp? "Seriously, Amber, I think you're a natural for this position. You can talk to new workers too, help them figure out their first steps, strategies they can use on the job. Look, I'm not going to try and talk you into it, but I think it would be really valuable for Thistleways if you came in and did the interview. Think about it, ok? My number is on the pamphlet. Call me if you want to ask any questions."

The blonde gave her another cheery grin, then pushed her hands into the pocket of her hoodie and moved back down the street, leaving Amber gape-jawed and reeling in her wake.


	5. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

**XI**

Donatello's _bo_ arced through the air, landing a glancing blow off Raphael's shell who ducked at the last moment and moved forward with his _sai_ in two strikes Donatello easily blocked. The _bo_ swung downwards, tripping Raphael's feet from under him and the turtle fell to the ground with an _oof_!

"All right, Donnie!" Michelangelo cheered his brother on and Donatello flushed and suppressed a grin. Raphael groaned and cursed, then flipped onto his feet.

"Where's your focus today, Raphael?" Leonardo couldn't help but query from where he stood surveying the scene with his arms folded. He knew Raphael had got in shortly before dawn and was too tired to concentrate on practice, and it riled him up.

Exhausted and embarrassed, Raphael's fuse was shorter than usual and he rounded on his brother furiously. "I don't need you gettin' up under my shell, Leo, ok? Besides – that was a lucky hit."

Donatello cringed and turned his back, not saying anything though Leonardo willed him to. But, as usual, it was left to Leonardo to stand up to the hot-tempered turtle's bullying.

Raphael had stormed over to one wall of the dojo, flipped against it and started doing handstand push ups, biceps and deltoids bulging, glaring ahead of him with a grim scowl fixed on his face. Leonardo sighed as Michelangelo and Donatello began a playful spar. He was leaving soon, after all, and didn't want to part on bad terms with Raphael. The two had frequently locked heads in the past but they'd always been close friends – at least until recently. Seventeen was proving to be a challenging year for the brothers, in more ways than one, bringing with it growing pains and fits of extreme emotion April laughingly referred to as _puberty blues_. Leonardo coped by throwing himself further into his training and Raphael dealt by becoming even more sullen and withdrawn. And Splinter's announcement of Leonardo being selected for special training had strained the relationship further.

Leonardo hesitated a moment then strode over to where his brother continued his exertions. "Want me to spot you?" he queried carefully, indicating to the weights. Raphael paused mid-push up then let his feet drop to the ground, standing up straight.

"Sure." He replied, equally carefully. "Thanks, bro."

A tentative peace fell over the dojo and by the small, tight smile Raphael gave him, Leonardo could see he was pleased as well.

Raphael leant back on the special bench Donatello had designed to accommodate their shells, extra wide and with a large circular space carved out of the middle, the barbell pressed against his plastron. "Start 'em at 250." He said and Leonardo loaded the bar accordingly. Raphael began the benchpress and Leonardo was impressed by his fluid pushes and said so. Raphael was not like his humble intellectual brother; he grinned openly and with no small degree of self-satisfaction. Weight-training was something all the brothers did, but Raphael was doing a lot more of it these days and it was beginning to show in his broader chest and shoulders and bigger arms and legs. Michelangelo had declared his intentions to follow suit, but somehow other things kept coming up. Like video games, or a new download, or a new experimental recipe.

Leonardo didn't want the extra weight to have to carry when he was gliding through a fight, moving swiftly and gracefully like liquid. Raphael's weapons were different – they suited a bulkier fighter. But he admired Raphael's discipline, even if he couldn't seem to apply it to other areas of his life – ah, but his thoughts were wandering down that path again. To halt them, he tried conversation.

"So, uh," he began uncertainly. "Did you have a good night last night?"

Raphael puffed, reached his fifteenth push. "I don't want a lecture, Leo."

"No, no," Leo said quickly, "I didn't mean that. I mean, uh, seriously. How was it?"

Raphael finished his set and paused to rest, rolling his eyes up to his brother's face incredulously.

"Ahhh – it was, yeah, it was pretty good. 300 now."

Leo moved to get the extra weights. Behind them Michelangelo was playing his usual trick of ducking and dodging, waiting for his opponent to tire out before engaging in actual combat. By now both Leonardo and Raphael would've lost patience and changed strategy, but Donatello generously indulged his brother, biding his own time. "Did you meet up with Casey?"

Raphael began a new set, eyeridges creasing together. "Naw, not last night. Played about by myself for awhile."

_Don't ask if he was careful_, Leonardo cautioned himself. _Don't even go there._

"Maybe, uh, maybe I could come out with you sometime." He said instead and then cringed. What? Why had he said that? He didn't want to skulk about on the rooftops night after night! Raphael had paused mid-set, staring at his brother in outright astonishment.

"Sure, Leo." He said warily, suspecting a trap of some sort. "Though I dunno if you'd, uh, you'd have a lot of fun. Don't know if it'd be your style."

"Yeah!" Michelangelo cackled. "Don'tcha know Raph likes to go spying on the street walkers?"

It was in poor taste, but it was a joke. None of the brothers knew what Raphael got up to on the surface, apart from beating up crooks with Casey. But Raphael froze, grip tightening hard on the barbell and teeth baring.

"Shutup Mikey." He growled through his teeth and Leonardo recognised the warning signs, whipping around to give Michelangelo a cautionary look. Michelangelo blustered on cheerfully, either heedless or reckless.

"Yeah, even a mug like Raph's can get a date with one of those girls." He cawed, twirling his _nunchuks_ idly and flipping out of Donatello's way. "Who needs charm, good looks and personality when for fifty bucks they 'love you long time' no matter what you look like!"

Raphael suddenly heaved the barbell forward and away from him where it hit the cement floor of the _dojo _with a resounding _clang_ that echoed through the chamber. Donatello and Michelangelo came to a sudden stop, looking in alarm at their furious brother who leapt to his feet and advanced on Michelangelo, who backed up, hands outstretched.

"Stop watching so much fuckin' television, Michelangelo! You don't know the first fuckin' thing about those girls!" Raphael yelled, sweat beading on his brow. "So shut the fuck up! "

Leonardo was groaning into his hand, knowing he had to move forward and mediate.

"Whoah Raph," Michelangelo tried to soothe him. "It was just a joke. I know you wouldn't stoop to having to pay a - - "

Raphael stabbed the air with a finger, hissing through his teeth. "Stop. Right. There. Don't say it. I'm warning you."

Donatello exchanged an uneasy glance with Leonardo. What was going on? Michelangelo bent slightly at the knees, readying himself to spring away in the case Raphael made a move on him. But after a heavy moment in which the four brothers stood, each silently tensed, Raphael turned on his heel and stormed out of the _dojo, _slamming the sliding door back into place behind him.

The three brothers exchanged glances before Michelangelo broke the silence: "Whoah! That was intense, even for Raph! Didn't know he'd take it so personal."

Donatello shrugged and resheathed his _bo_. "It's Raphael. He takes everything personally." He said lightly. "I just got in a lucky hit, remember?"

Leonardo let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding and looked at the heavy barbell which continued to roll back and forward slightly on the ground from the force with which Raphael had thrown it. A wry grin quirked one side of his mouth and he couldn't resist a little teasing look at Michelangelo.

"At least it wasn't me this time. "

**XII**

Amber blinked against the raw sunlight and leaned back on her hands, legs outstretched in the grass in front of her. Weird being out and about during the day. She did it once every couple of months or so, but still couldn't quite get her head around it. Around her people moved, a wholly different crowd to the nightbreed, moving about their business. They all looked so – so normal. So ordinary. They wore jeans and sweatshirts, jersey dresses and leggings. They smiled and greeted each other, bought hotdogs and sodas, sat in the park and read in the sunlight.

Amber used to spend hours in the sunlight. Her mother would shriek at her to put sunscreen on, but she always forgot. By the time she reached highschool she was one big freckle. _Kisses from God_, her father had called them. She supposed it was time to send them another postcard. No return address, as always. She wondered if they'd freak out to know she was homeless – or if they'd grown accustomed to the shocks she delivered.

Amber shivered and scratched at her arm. The needle prick was itchy, the fabric of her coat rubbing against it uncomfortably. The smack didn't really affect her the way it used to. When she first started using, she could barely move for hours after a shot. Now she couldn't function without it – but she functioned really well when high. She felt focused, alert and alive. Without it she felt confused, her head heavy, her thoughts clouded. Then there was the pain.

Amber shuddered and moved her thoughts elsewhere. She'd go to the bathouse in a little while. Hang out in the saunas for a while, get a skin scrub, sit in the hot tub. Great way to spend a brisk winter's day. Then she'd sleep for a bit, probably back here in the park, under the sun. At least until it set.

A figure was approaching her across the grass, a tall lean man in a long black coat, an ingratiating smile on his lips. She figured he was headed for someone behind her and didn't acknowledge him. So when he stopped by her side she groaned inwardly and refused to look up at him. Did they think never took a break?

"I don't clock on til ten, baby." She said boredly, then squinted up towards him with a toothy grin. "Sorry."

"Oh that's ok, Miss, that's not why I'm here." The fellow continued to smile, crouching down beside her and clasping his hands in front of him. "My name is Professor Phillip Andrews and I'm from NYU. Myself and some associates are undertaking a research project on the area, doing a bit of a narrative history of some of the more colourful characters who populate it. Maybe you've heard some of your friends talk about us?"

Amber said nothing, her eyes masked behind her sunglasses, lips slightly parted. The professor swallowed and hemmed before continuing. "Anyway, we're conducting interviews with some of the locals and to demonstrate that we appreciate you sacrificing your valuable time are offering a participant's fee of $500 for two or three hours interview time. Would you be interested?"

A sneer was curling Amber's lip and her fingertips twitched. The professor merely waited silently, not recognising the warning signals. Suddenly Amber pounced.

"You fucking sanctimonous prick." She sneered. "You fucking researchers, you all think we're going to be so freaking grateful that you put us under your microscope and cut us open and display our guts on paper for the rest of the world to ogle like you've done us some big sort of favour. " The professor's mouth had turned downwards and he'd leapt upwards on his feet, backing up as Amber struggled to stand upright, still spitting in fury. "You pathologise us, stereotype us, twist our words to suit your concepts of what we are, turn us into nothing more than scapegoats for your fucking theories. It's our lives and you fuckers get all the glory for it! You think I'm so desperate for your money that I'd agree to just go off and pour out my heart to you? Get fucked. You ever want a blowjob, then we'll talk. Until then, FUCK. OFF."

Her voice had continued to rise throughout her tirade until it finally reached a shout on her final words and the professor stumbled away, perturbed and with a curious expression of futile fury contorting his features. Several passersby paused to observe the little scene and as Amber stood in the park, panting and clenching and unclenching her shaking hands, she heard a lean brunette jogger remark snidely to her friend. "It's a disgrace. They should lock them up instead of letting them run wild on the streets."

Amber whirled in the direction of the women and shrieked at them too. "And you can fuck off as well, you cunts!"

The women broke into a very swift jog then and the audience began to disperse, casting her varying looks of pity and disgust. Amber was consumed with helpless rage when she saw them, filled with the sudden desire to rip their faces and those smug expressions off. So much for a quiet morning in the park!

**XIII**

Somethin' weird is goin' on. Thing is, no one seems to have noticed but me.

The streets are definitely quieter. A lot of the locals seem to have gone AWOL. These parts are always changin' – people moving on, leavin' town, going underground for the season or getting' arrested. But this is different.

I'm amblin' slowly down the street, bike chugging beneath me. It's a sound I've quickly become accustomed to and the feel of the motor vibrating through me. The weather's startin' to warm up again and it's a clear night and the mood around me is vibrant. I should feel good, but I don't.

I pull up at Amber's beat. She ain't there but that's ok. I'll wait.

Lenny leans in the doorframe of his shop and nods at me. Couple of the folks 'round here are gettin' to know me and though I know that ain't really a good thing, it's kind of a nice feelin' too. I nod back. I don't recognise the song that's playin'.

After awhile, Amber returns, brow furrowed in thought or a headache, I couldn't say which. She seems erratic and confused, stumbling along the pavement in a lurching way. Her expression lightens when she sees me and she darts over, putting one skinny hand on my huge gloved one.

"Hey baby, glad to see you." She grins and there's something like relief on her face. For a moment she's distracted by what's playin' in Lenny's, a sudden enamoured smile on her lips. "I love this song."

"What is it?"

"_Jersey Girl_, Tom Waits. Yo, Lenny, can you start this one again, baby?" She shouts back over her shoulder to him and he tips his Stetson and heads back inside. A moment later the track starts again as Amber returns her attention to me.

"Listen, baby, there's somethin' off around here. People are goin' missin'"

"Sheesh. Thought I was the only who'd noticed. What's happenin' Amber?"

Her eyes are wide, the pupils completely pinned and her hands are shaking violently. She's lost the gloves, again, I notice, and there are fine threads of blood over her split knuckles. I say nothing. Her teeth chatter and I wonder how much of this is drug-fuelled hysteria.

"I dunno. I dunno. I couldn't tell you baby. I couldn't say. All I know is it started with Harold. No, maybe it started with Sam. I dunno. But now my pal Maria's gone missin'. And there's others too, I know. I asked some of the local beat cops if they'd locked her up, or any of the others who've vanished. They reckon no – hell, they hadn't even noticed! They laughed! Said they'd probably just shacked up with someone, or gone back home." Her eyes flash when she says this and I can feel a twinge of fury in my skull. What was I expectin' – those creeps to do their actual jobs?

Amber is starting to spit and hiss, getting herself worked up. "Fucking no good scum bastards."

I take her gently and firmly by the shoulders. "All right, Amber, I need you to think for me. Did your friends say anything to you before they disappeared? Anythin' that seemed weird?"

She rubs at her sunken eyes, chews on her lip, stamps her foot. "I dunno. " she whimpers. "Fuck, I can't remember."

I sigh. I shoulda been payin' more attention from the start. I'd noticed when Harold hadn't been about for a few days but I'd just figured he'd headed for a shelter. Should've enquired.

Shoulda, coulda, woulda. This ain't helpin'.

"Wait, wait!" Amber suddenly hissed, her eyes lit with a strange gleam, face contorted. "There is – there's somethin'. Yeah. Maria said – Maria said she was goin' off to do an interview."

"An interview?" I'm puzzled.

"Yeah – yeah – oh shit, yeah, now I remember! Sam said it too – with a university or somethin'. Research project. They were both goin' to do it. Get five hundred bucks for it. They – they approached me the other day as well."

It sounds a bit weird but it doesn't make sense. What would a university have to do with disappearing homeless and hookers? I ask her and she gets suddenly hysterical.

"I don't know!" she shrieks and I shake her before I can help myself.

"Calm the hell down." I'm not the right person to be dealin' with her when she's like this. I've never seen her quite like this. Her eyes are getting' redder.

Then suddenly she snaps out of it. Just like that. One second she's hissing and rolling her eyes back in her head, the next she's standing up straight and calm, looking at me with the same old implacable expression.

"Will you look into it, baby?"

Unnerved I let her go, putting my hands back on the handlebars. "Sure." I say shortly. "I'll drop by in a couple of nights if I find anythin'." Something occurs to me then and I ask her. "Hey, did you go do this interview then?"

She snorted and shook her head. "Nope."

"Well." It still doesn't make any sense but somethin' about it is itchin' at the back of my skull. If only Donnie were here – "Well, maybe don't take them up on the offer until I find out a bit more."

She pulls a crumpled cigarette from her pocket and lights up, blowing smoke through her teeth and grinning at me. "Wasn't planning on it. Catch ya, baby."

She steps back up on the curb and suddenly belts into the night: "Sha-la-la-la, I'm in love with a Jersey Girl!"

I stare after her a moment before starting the bike up. "Night, Amber," I mutter to her swaying back and peal off into the night.


	6. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE**

**IX**

It was late evening and the den was quiet but for the hum of Donatello's cordon of computers in the corner by his lab, dark but for their electric blue glow illuminating the space about them. Raphael emerged from the darkness of his bedroom and leapt down over the rail into the communal space, then paced silently to the kitchen, pushing open the door with one hand, and then freezing.

Donatello was in there, leaning against the counter, evidently having been burning the midnight oil. Raphael wasn't surprised – Donatello often kept pace with Raphael's night-time activity – it was just he usually stayed within confines of the den to do so. He had, however, been hoping to avoid any contact with his brothers.

Donatello looked up from the bowl of cereal he was quietly slurping from and gave Raphael a gentle little smile.

Raphael let a resigned puff of breath out and entered the kitchen, letting the door swing shut behind him. Donatello said nothing, for which Raphael was grateful. Donatello understood it wasn't always necessary to talk.

Raphael moved over to the fridge and took out a can of soda, thought a moment, and grabbed another one, offering it to Donatello, who shook his head and smiled his thanks. Raphael replaced the extra can, then popped open his own, tipping his head right back to slam it down. He kicked a chair out from the kitchen table and sat down, cupping the can in both hands. He and Donatello did not look at each other but now that he was sharing space with one of his brothers, the familiar remorse and guilt over his earlier behaviour began to work its way through his body. He supposed he should apologise. In fact, this was a great opportunity to do so. He'd do it right now.

But then, as usual, the words got caught in his throat. Obstructed there, right at the base of his neck. He felt irritation wash through him then – just two simple words! What was the big deal in saying them? For that matter, why did they need to be said? It wasn't such a big deal after all – he'd just look weak, stupid. Donatello had probably forgotten all about it. Why bring it up again? He'd look like a total numbskull.

Raphael didn't realise he'd been grinding his teeth until Donatello's calm, quiet voice broke the stillness of the evening.

"Something you want to talk about, Raph?"

He started, sighed, put his face in one hand, gripped the soda can tight. "Naw." Then it occurred to him – the deal with the missing street folks. Donatello might be able to shed some light –

But Donatello was pulling out his own chair, sitting next to Raphael with one of his "I'm about to discuss something serious and of great import with you, be prepared to not understand a single word that comes from my mouth" looks.

"So, Raphael," Donatello began, and then paused, looking suddenly unsure of himself. This threw Raphael for a curve: Donatello was always sure of himself, at least when he started to speak. He waited, and the silence swelled as Donatello hesitated, eyes moving back and forth in his head as though deciding how to proceed. Evidently coming to a decision, he turned his gaze back to his brother and continued.

"Raph, I couldn't help noticing this morning, just how – uh – emotional you got when Mikey made his admittedly distasteful cracks about you and – uh – _prostitutes_." Donatello's voice lowered on the final word, and his eyes swivelled away, cheeks colouring.

Raphael had been about to take another swig of his drink but the can arrested at his lips and his eyes bulged.

"_What_?" He exclaimed and Donatello hastened forward.

"Leo and Mikey didn't seem to think that much of it, and you can rest assured I haven't discussed this with them and I won't, but it occurred to me that Mikey might've hit upon a nerve of truth, as he inadvertently manages to do now and again – "

Donatello's gaze had become fixed upon the cracked surface of the table while Raphael was shaking his head in disbelief: "Oh Donnie, no, no, no."

Donatello ploughed ahead, determined to finish now that he had begun. "Now, please understand I'm not trying to invade your privacy and I don't need you to tell me anything you don't want to, I just want to make sure that you're aware of the risks and are taking precautions, and that if there's anything you need to know, then I can give you some reference material on the subject to help you make informed decisions."

Raphael threw his hands up in the air and exclaimed in exasperation: "Reference material? Donnie, what the hell?"

Donatello fell silent, chin in hand, still staring downwards. Raphael glared at him, arms folded across his plastron, daring him to say anything more. After a long moment, Donatello coughed and muttered in a rush: "And, uh, how you're accomplishing this given your – uh – _non-human_ stature – I mean, you couldn't be _revealing _yourself… could you?"

Finally he turned inquisitive and slightly plaintive eyes to his brother who suddenly pushed savagely away from the table and stood up, pacing over the linoleum.

"Sheesh, Donnie, you've got it all wrong – I'm not seein' hookers, awright?"

"Oh." Donatello reply was small, embarrassed, and perhaps a little disappointed.

"I just didn't like Mikey, uh – I dunno. It sounded derog – derog – "

"Derogatory." Donatello supplied helpfully and Raph spun around, gripping the edge of the table in both hands.

"Yeah. And I just don't think it's right."

Once again, a silence fell between the brothers. After a moment, Donatello mumbled: "Sorry about that."

Raphael waved a hand, brow creasing in irritation. "Forget it. Thing is, I do keep an eye out on 'em. And others, too. And well – Donnie. I could use your advice, come to think of it."

Donatello lifted a curious face to his brother and Raphael sighed, sitting down once again.

"I noticed a few weeks ago that some of the homeless folks who are always around the area suddenly weren't puttin' in appearances."

Donatello shrugged lightly. "So? The weather's been freezing. They're probably in shelters or hiding out in empty buildings."

Rapahel shook his head impatiently. "Naw, it ain't like that. They're just vanishin'. Now, a few hookers have started goin' missin' too. And there – there does seem to be a connection."

He didn't want to mention Amber. He didn't want to reveal just how much contact he was having with some of the people from the streets – just in case Don did tell Leo. Or worse, Splinter.

Donatello had raised an interested eyebrow ridge and Raphael continued. "Some of the folks who've gone missin' – they'd all gone off to do this paid interview with some mob from a university. Overheard some girl mention it to another – they'd approached her. I dunno Donnie. I don't get it really, but somethin' about it just doesn't feel right."

Donatello furrowed his brow. "Hrrrrm. It's not unusual for researchers to pay subjects a participation fee, as an incentive. Do you know how much are they offering?"

"Five hundred bucks." Donatello's eyes bulged at that.

"Okay, well that's way too much. Most grants would never enable that kind of fee. Sometimes they're lucky to have enough to pay fifty dollars per participant. I mean, the funding pays all the expenses for the project… and most grants are comparatively small, especially if the subject is a special interest one. You're right – that doesn't sound exactly kosher."

Raphael felt some small relief to hear that. "What can I do about it?"

Now Donatello looked surprised. "Well, Raph, I really don't know. Aren't the police looking into this?"

Raphael threw up his hands, feeling another rush of annoyance flood him. "They haven't even noticed! The only people who've noticed are the ones who pal around with the missin' guys. I gotta tell ya, Don, I really don't like it."

Donatello frowned in thought, drummed his fingers on the table. "Well, Raph, I'll think about it. But you know we'll have to get Splinter's blessing to move ahead on this? Have you spoken to him?"

Raphael stood up again, abruptly; crushing his soda can in one fist. "Nah. I wanna get more info before I do. Donnie, can I trust you?"

Donatello regarded his agitated brother calmly for a moment then nodded. "You can."

**X**

Amber left the second hand bookstore with a wave to Frank, the owner, a bulky novel gripped in one hand, so thick her fingers could barely close around it. _The Crimson Petal and The White._ She'd already read it, a couple of years ago, but it was so good she found herself reaching for it again. Amber would read anything and everything and was always looking for something new, but sometimes familiar territory was secure and she needed to feel something grounding her at the moment.

She hadn't seen Maria since that night they'd talked about the interview and at first she'd thought the mob at Thistleways had gotten hold of her again. A confrontation there revealed they hadn't seen her in at least a week, which was unusual because she was religious about getting condoms from them.

So Amber had asked around, only to get the same answer. And then, almost everyone she asked revealed that someone they knew had disappeared as well. Some had been gone for as long as three months. No one could figure it out.

Amber knew people came and went as the fancy took them. Some people regularly left the city in winter, some moved to other areas if they got too well known in one spot, regularly rotating, leaving another time inbetween each sojourn for their faces to be forgotten.

But this was different. Maria had a kid. She wouldn't just vanish. And Sam – Sam had been in this area for close to fifteen years. If she'd got the urge to go, she would've said something. Then there was the uncomfortable fact she hadn't walked past Cleo on her beat the last two nights. It was beginning to really creep her out.

She'd calmed down a little after talking to Raphael, but was furious that she hadn't remembered the details of the interview before, so she could've asked the others. She had faith in her guardian angel, though, to sort things out. He could handle it.

As Amber rounded the corner she was startled to suddenly see the same lean man who'd approached her in the park talking to George and Old Maude. Or at least trying to – Maude was guffawing and talking over the top of him in her raspy voice while he tried to smile politely, hands defensively in the pockets of his big black coat.

She watched the scene for a moment, ducking against the grimy window of a laundrette, then made up her mind.

"Hey!" she called out cheerfully, approaching the tall man, who looked up at the sound of her voice then stepped backwards upon seeing her.

She greeted Old Maude and George with a nod then looked up at him, smiling, chewing her mouth, tapping one foot speedily on the footpath. He regarded her nervously. "Yer that Professor, right?" When he nodded, she let out a whoop. "Yeah I knew it! Sorry about the other day, man, you know in the park and all?"

He nodded again. "That's quite fine, no problem at all."

"Naw, man, really, like it was just I'd had a rough night, yannow, and I badly needed fixin' and I just go crazy when I need a fix, yannow, nuts, man and sometimes I just go right off the handle."

He was still reserved, still wary and she smiled at him, the full hundred watts, still chewing the air in her mouth.

"So I thought it over and I'll do your interview for ya. Man, you gotta have me in your book, man, I've seen it all, done it all, you ain't gonna have noone like me, I done the _mayor of the city_ in the back of his fucken' limousine, the stories I could tell you, you'll sell a million copies, man, trust me."

The tall man had recovered himself at her words, suddenly smiling and interested. "Well, now, that's just wonderful. We'd be very appreciative to be sure. Here, let me give you some details…"

But she grasped him by the sleeve of his expensive coat and dragged him off towards a café, continuing her chatter.

"Here man, let's do it now, you can buy me dinner."

"Well, now – " he tried to protest but she was insistent, dragging him inside and throwing him down in a booth.

"Right now, let's do it now!" she cried. "Come on, ask me anythin'! Man, I got some stories for you!"

The man sighed, adjusted his coat, pushed his glasses up his nose and, she noticed, swiped at the sleeve of his coat where she'd gripped him. She kept chewing, now drumming her fingers on the bench, her eyes wide so that they stung, and she blinked rapidly.

He could not quite keep the distaste from curling his lip as he looked at her and she felt a stab of victory at that. The waitress came around to take their order, looking at Amber, then at him knowingly while Amber ordered onion rings, steak and vegetables, vanilla shake and mud cake with cream and ice cream for dessert, requesting it all come out at once. The man asked primly for black coffee and when the waitress departed she turned her gaze back to him.

"What was your name again, man?" She queried, taking the opportunity to examine him closer.

"Ah – Professor Philip Andrews." She didn't like the look of him. There was something weak and quivering about his chin, and something small and cold in his eyes. They were set too close together. His nose was long and his lips were thin and pressed hard against the other. He kept his hands in his pockets, beneath the table. That she disliked most of all.

"So – " she prompted him, and he looked nervous.

"So?" He echoed, and she screeched with laughter so that he looked about him warily.

"Don'tcha got a recorder or somethin'? Questions? What you wanna ask me?"

"Oh, well, ah – " he was flustered, fumbling for a response and she raised her eyebrows exaggeratedly.

"Kinda disorganised, aren't ya?"

"Well," She could see then he was struggling to keep hold of his temper, to keep it locked in underneath the mild, quavering façade he'd adopted. But she could see it – she'd seen it many times – knew where to look – right in the very centre of his eye. It would always betray them, the silent rage and hatred, as though it was concentrated in the black of the pupil. "Well, you see, I'm accustomed to doing this in an office, with my colleagues, not just anywhere, and I'm afraid I didn't bring anything with me – "

She snorted with derision. "What you talkin' about? Surely you know what you wanna ask, don't gotta read that off a piece of paper! And," she made her voice suddenly sharper so that he glanced at her. "You think I was born yesterday?" She laughs again, keeping her eyes vacant.

"Well, I suppose we could get a few things out of the way now." The man managed to say. "Just the basics. Do your family know where you are and what you do?"

She shrugged. "They know what I do. They don't know where I am." She didn't like telling the truth but it occurred to her that saying they knew where she was might prompt him to leave.

"Do you have a police record?" Was his next question and she wondered how dumb exactly he thought she was.

Being a junkie whore certainly had some advantages.

"Hell yeah." She continued playing the game, chuckling as the food arrived and was piled before her, plate after plate of it. The intermingled smells of fried grease and meat permeated her nose and she struggled not to gag. She wasn't about to eat any of it, of course. But she made a show of grasping the ketchup bottle and tipping it upside all over the steak. "All me friends do… Georgie… Lucinda… Maria… hey, you know Maria don't you?"

The man wrinkled his brow. "What?"

"You know, my pal Maria. Phillipino lady, she went and did an interview with you guys last week?"

"Oh." He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose again, and reached for his coffee. "Yes of course."

"Tell you, she must've gone out partyin' with that money you gave her, because I haven't seen hide nor hair of her since!" Amber put a spoonful of icecream in her mouth and sucked, swivelling her eyes towards the man. Whatever he saw in their depths made him go quite still. "I'm sure." He said carefully. "Well, I know how you types like to party so much. And I'm sure you know what it's like to be having so much fun that you skip work for a few days."

Amber felt a cold stab of hatred spike through her gut. Maria never partied. Never. All of her money went on rent and bills and making sure her kid was properly fed and clothed.

"You bet I do!" she laughed, letting the spoon drop back into the cake, "Why should I get a real job or clean up when there's so many dumb suckers willin' to part with their money! Why play it straight when I can chase the dragon and always be laughin'?"

He smiled, nastily. "Indeed."

She took a loud slurp of the milkshake. "Can I get my money now?"

Silently, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a wallet, flipping it open and withdrawing four crisp fifty dollar bills. "Here you are, young lady. Now, you will get the rest, and an additional two hundred, if you come into our offices for a proper interview. I simply can't do this without my equipment and you're definitely the kind of fascinating individual we want for the book. Can you do that, hrrmm?"

He couldn't keep the condescension from his voice and she realised that even if he did suspect she knew something, he thought her too stupid or too deranged to be dangerous. She wanted to throw the shake in his face but instead she snatched the money from his hand and crammed it inside her dress.

"It's a deal. Hey – you ain't even asked my name, you know?"

He coughed. "How silly of me."

"Amber."

"Amber." He reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew a small, white card, handing it to her inbetween two fingers. "This is our address. How about you come by tomorrow morning?"

"You got it." Amber shoved the card into a pocket, took a final spoonful of ice cream, then slid out from the booth and exited the café quickly, leaving the man surveying the plates of untouched food in front of him.

**XI**

I reach the address Amber has given me, pausing on the rooftop directly opposite it.

It's an old factory, its walls stained black, its rows of windows painted over. It would look deserted if it weren't for the smoking chimney on its top, huge clouds of black smoke sooting the air.

I realise it's the same factory Amber remarked on the other night.

I tilt my head to the side and think back over the last few months.

The chimney's been smokin' for a while, I decide, but not always. There was a time, not so long ago, when this building really was abandoned. I'm sure of it.

I can't pinpoint the exact moment the chimney started smokin' in my head. But who would notice it? It's just part of the scenery.

I take a breath, eye the distance between this roof and that, bend at the knees, fingertips of one hand brushing the concrete. Then I spring.

The space between the two buildings is dark like water, and sometimes it's hard to forget there's a sudden – and hard – stop waiting at the bottom for me if I misjudge.

I take the jolt of the landing in both legs, still bent, absorbing the shock. A pigeon flutters into the air, startled by my sudden appearance. I straighten, look around me.

I'm not goin' in. Just checkin' things out tonight.

The chimney's in the middle of the roof and I stride over to it, looking it up and down. Smoke continues to erupt from the top of it and it occurs to me suddenly to wonder what exactly they're burning up in there and why so much of it.

And what the hell it has to do with missing street folk.

I circle the chimney, one hand scraping it, as though I expect to find the answer written somewhere. I don't.

I turn around, eye off the rest of the roof. There's a skylight and I approach it, hoping it will reveal something telling to me.

It's been painted over.

Cardboard boxes, warped from rain and snow, are crumpled in one corner. There's bird shit and junk everywhere. The whole rooftop is filthy, crumbling, neglected.

Except for one thing.

The rooftop entrance is a solid steel door with a sophisticated looking locking mechanism. Drawing closer I see, glowing beneath lock, a small red light. I pause.

What's to bet that's an alarm?

Now that's some heavy duty hardware for an old wreck like this. Makes me wonder what they need to protect so much.

Or hide.

I go back to the edge of the roof, glance down and then drop to the nearest window ledge. I move across, then down, down and across again. The cameras don't start 'til halfway down, but I'm all right up here. I keep moving, up and down and across until I come to a window where the paint is starting to peel. Didn't want to scrape at any of them – in case it's noticed from inside. I shift – the ledges are narrow and I need to balance – then peer inside.

Appearances are deceiving, so they say.

Whatever operation they're running here, there's some serious money behind it. Donatello would asphyxiate if he could see some of the heavy duty equipment they're packin' in this lab. I couldn't name half of 'em – hell, I think all I really recognise is a microscope and some tubes – but I know enough to know it's state of the art. The walls are shining, the tiles are new, the equipment sparkles beneath the fluorescent globes lightin' up the whole spread. It reminds me of Amber's dealer, and her designer penthouse hidden away in a crumbling brownstone. Nobody would ever guess.

With the amount of security around the place, I'll need to think really hard about how I'm goin' to get inside, when the time comes. No matter what I'd said to Donnie, I really had no intention of takin' this up with the others. Whoever these creeps are, they want Amber to come in. Maybe there's a way in there…

… then again, if they want her so bad, it might not be such a crash hot idea.

I move forward again, seeking out another window that might yield a few more secrets. I pass a combined kitchen and living space, a couple of stiffs in white coats chatting over their mugs on the leather sofas that border the walls. Another lab – this one a little more unusual, with one or two examination benches in the centre of it, humming machinery hooked up to them. I don't miss the buckles and restraints hanging from the benches. I definitely do not like this.

I'm almost at the end of this side and there's a faint glow coming from around it. I move forward, creeping towards the edge. A high cement fence has been built here and it looks pretty new, one sheer, straight stretch of wall, regularly dotted with cameras concentrated on the street below. The top of it is edged in barbed wire, coiling savagely in on itself, and a small yellow sign with a black bolt, indicating it's electrified besides. That doesn't phase me. I just use the window ledges to climb up high again, then peer over the side, down to where a big white van is parked. There's movement, and sound, and I duck back into the shadows, back to the wall, fingertips gripping hard at the bricks and the ledge above me.

A couple of guys emerge from behind the van, each carrying a crate. They're big guys, hired muscle it looks like, and I can make out the shapes beneath their coats. But more interestin' to me, even, is the sign on the side of the crates.

It's orange, with a black curving design in its centre. Even I know what that means.

Biohazardous material.

I really do not like this.


	7. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER SIX**

**XII**

"Baby I been waitin', I been waitin' night and day." Amber leant against the wall of the 7-11, chin to chest, hands deep in her pockets, singing to herself. "I didn't see the time, and now I've waited half my life away." Around her the honks of cars, shouts of laughter, the wail of sirens rose and fell. "There were lots of invitations… I know you sent me some." A carful of young boys screeched past and she heard one of them scream: _"Ya fucken dirty slut!"_ "But I was waitin'… waitin' for the miracle to come."

She felt off tonight, head so heavy she could barely hold it up, a bracing pain across her chest, worsened whenever she coughed, which was often.

"Nothin' left to do when you know you've been taken. Nothin' left to do when you're beggin' for a crumb." Georgie passed by, whistled at Amber in her short, sharp way, kept on strolling when Amber did not look up. "Nothin' left to do when you're waitin'…" A cop car slid past, the rookie in the passenger seat shooting her a dirty look she might've flipped the bird at, if she'd been looking. "…for the miracle to come…"

"I dreamed about you baby, it was just the other night." Her thoughts turned to the guardian angel, and she wondered if he'd visit her tonight, take her for another ride, lift her clear off the ground in those big arms of his. "Mostly you was naked, but some of you was light." She just couldn't muster energy to step out and work it. It was all too hard, tonight. Cars kept whizzing past, and she kept missing them. "Waitin'… for the miracle… for the miracle to come…"

A horn honked, nearby, then again. And again. Finally, she dragged her head upwards, eyes smarting in the neon light, gazing dully out into the street. A bright red convertible, hood up, was tooling there, right in front of her. Anyone who owned a red convertible was stupid enough for her to cope with, she thought through a clouded haze, and somehow urged her body to move, pushing off the glass and putting one foot in front of the other until she reached the car and hopped in, slumping in the leather seat, still bearing that new car smell.

The car screeched off and the driver began yammering.

"Shit, oh shit. I've never done this before. Do you think the cops saw us?"

She managed to twist her neck to look at him where he was tense and nervous, hands gripping the steering wheel.

"Will the cops come after us, do you think?" He continued, looking anxiously in the rearview mirror. "Shit, man, my wife would kill me. Oh man." He flicked a switch by his elbow, locking the doors. Amber didn't like that and it roused her a little. Something was wrong here. The driver was giving her a bashful smile, the scent of his aftershave sharp in the closed air of the car. "It's just that I caught sight of you looking so preWtty there and just had to stop. "

Suddenly, Amber sat up a little straighter. People _had_ to stop for Lucinda. They _had_ to stop for Georgie. Noone _had _to stop for Amber. Something was very wrong here.

Willing herself to remain calm, Amber managed a little smile. "Don't sweat it, baby. No one saw. But if you're that worried about it, you can let me out here."

The mug laughed and turned a corner. "Oh no, it's cool. Now I've got you, I'm not going to let you get away."

She managed to half-laugh. Every instinct Amber had was screaming at her that this was all wrong, all off. She knew she was in danger and forced herself to breathe deep and look around her. The car was clean, no debris that she might use as a weapon. She had fits in her bag. The threat of some nasty blood borne virus might scare him off… if she could get one popped and put in her syringe that is… shit! She should've been paying more attention before he locked the door. For all that he was carrying on she realised his hands were calm and steady on the wheel and he drove surely and at a reasonable speed. No jiggling feet or sudden turns. Premeditated, she was sure of it. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

Maybe all he wanted was to steal a freebie then he'd let her out somewhere. She didn't like it but it was better than any other alternative. Just go along with him then… don't piss him off.

He drove into a long, dark alleyway and her heart hammered painfully against her ribs.

"What would you like then, baby?" She spoke quietly to keep her voice steady as he killed the motor, and sat there silently, in the dark.

"I'd like something special." His voice was calm now, no trace of the jibbering pansy from a moment ago.

"Well," she talked tough, turning her body towards him in the seat so that she could watch his every move. "That would be extra, you know."

He smiled in the darkness and she caught the movement of his hand emerging from his pocket. "Oh, that's not a problem. "

He reached toward her then and as quick as she could she jammed forward with her fist, past his arm and directly into his groin. He gave a little _whuff_ of shock as she fumbled with the door, trying to pop the lock. No luck. Then he was grasping hold of her hair and wrenching her neck back so that she gasped and cried out. _You fucken bitch_ she heard him yell and then her nose and mouth were covered with a pungent cloth and she tried to wriggle around in the seat, trying to get her booted legs up to kick out at him. She couldn't believe it. After all that time telling anyone who'd listen that streetwork was nowhere near as dangerous as television made out, she was about to become a fuckin' statistic! One leg lashed out against the gear stick, another slammed into the roof as she inhaled the sharp substance that covered the cloth and then her thread of consciousness began to unwind, pulling apart. She panicked, slammed upwards against the hand that covered her face, but it was immoveable and she felt a sharp pain stab through the back of her neck before slumping backwards.

**XIII**

I'd been watchin' Amber all night.

She was having a rough night, that much I could tell. Whether she was sick or too sober or just in a bad mood, I couldn't say, but it wasn't helpin' my state of mind.

I was nervous as all hell.

Everytime she got into a car I followed. Watched. Followed her back. Kept watchin'.

The sports car was no different. I saw a flurry of movement within, heard Amber cry out, the mug swear, heard the thumps. I didn't hesitate.

The doors were locked. The butt of my _sai_ through the windscreen sorted that out. The glass spilled like rain into the front seats, revealing the mug with one ham-fist over Amber's face, a cloth concealing her features, and she was slumped there, out cold.

Rage racketed through me like electricity and I grabbed the guy's wrist, wrenched it away, twisted it and pulled, feeling the arm suddenly pop from its socket. That felt almost too good.

The mug was screaming, face contorted with fear and pain and I saw him reach with his good arm, fumble beneath his coat.

_Get Amber out of there_, the thought sprung automatically to mind and I reached forward, grasped her slight body and pulled it clear, rolled off the hood as the mug found his gun and began shooting wildly in our direction. One bullet ripped past my shoulder, tearing a stinging lash in the suit.

I hit the asphalt on my shell, cradling Amber's body in my arms, then rolled again and kept on rolling until I was well clear. I heard a car engine hum to life and leapt to my feet and made a jump for the car.

Too late. He hit the accelerator and tore off, still bellowing in agony.

I couldn't go after him and leave Amber there, unconscious and alone.

I punched the nearest brick wall and swore as loud and as furious as I could. _Damn._

I'd recognised that guy.

He'd been at the factory last night.

Behind me Amber was crumpled in a heap, senseless. I took her pulse, checked she was breathing, then lifted her up and easily, draping her over my shoulder. Then I went for the roofs.

I sat, cross-legged, on cold cement under an unfriendly full moon, and stretched her out before me. Her red hair fanned around her, her dry lips were slightly parted and her rough hands were curled into loose fists. She'd need water when she woke up. I didn't dare leave her, though, in case she woke up while I was gone.

What was I supposed to do? Donnie would know – but I was on my own.

"Amber?" I muttered, touching her cheek. "Amber? Time to wake up, sweet cheeks. C'mon." I grasped hold of her shoulders and shook gently, so that her head lolled. "Aw, shit." I finally succumbed, and slapped her.

Well, it worked.

With a gasp she woke, jerking upwards and kicking out against me.

"Whoah, whoah, it's me, it's Raphael!" I exclaimed, grabbing hold of her tight so that she couldn't move.

Her eyes rolled wildly for a moment, then she calmed, heaving with breath and stared at me.

"Fuck me." She whispered. "What happened?"

"You were in the midst of a very bad date." I said shortly, getting to my feet and dragging her into a standing position with me. I wasn't sure if I was doing the right thing, but it occurred to me to make her walk around, clear her head.

She swayed, lifting a hand to her forehead. "Oh, man," she whimpered, and then puked.

It didn't occur to me to hold her hair back until she'd finished, but she seemed to manage ok.

She stayed bent over for a while, hands on her knees, panting and gagging before slowly standing upright, wiping at her mouth with the back of a hand.

"I feel like I've been hit by a mac truck." She moaned. "Christ, you think you can spot the signs and then… bam…"

"Amber," I pause, realising she didn't know. "That guy – I've seen him before."

Her head snaps up, staring at me in shock. I nod and continue, tense as a bow string. "He was at that address you gave me to check out. I think he's involved with the whole thing."

Her brow creases and I wait while she mulls this over. "Shit." She says finally and collapses heavily back on her rear on the dusty roof. I crouch down beside her.

"Amber, why would they come after you like that?"

She chuckles, folds her arms across her knees. "I kinda hinted to the professor I knew Maria was missing."

Inside the helmet my vision blurs red. "You _what? _Are you fuckin' serious, Amber?"

She jerks her head, scowling. I turn and kick out at the air, wanting to crush something. I settle for slamming my fist into the rooftop door a few times.

After I've calmed down, Amber turns over onto her knees, pushes herself up with immense effort from the ground, sighing.

"So now they're after me." She says and I grit my teeth, turning away from her in the darkness.

"Looks like. They'll be even more aggressive about it now, too. Have you got someplace to go – some place secret?"

Her laugh is hollow, husky. I can't look at her.

"I got nowhere, baby. I got nowhere but a locker in the subway. I don't think I'll fit."

"No friends? No relatives?"

I sense, rather than see, she shakes her head. I make myself turn around.

"What about your family?"

She steps backwards, alarmed, lip curling savagely. "_No way!_"

"You need to go somewhere, Amber. You can't stay out on the streets. You won't be able to work for awhile. Not until I've sorted this out. Don't you understand that?"

She sets her jaw, stubborn, and shakes her head, eyes flashing. "I've got a police record. What if these creeps can access it? They'll find my parents' address – what if they hurt them?"

Strangely, that tugs at me someplace deep inside. For some reason, I didn't think she'd worry about something like that. I feel a cool breeze move past the flesh wound on my arm, passing between us and lifting her hair. The stuff he knocked her out with has turned her sallow. She's so small out here. If I hadn't been there, she wouldn't have stood a chance. I can't watch her all the time and no one else will.

I know what I have to do.

I can feel my heart sinking heavily, my guts coiling. I sigh.

"I never planned on doing this." I lift my hands then hesitate. "But I think it's best if I prepare you now."

Across from me her eyes widen as she realises what I'm about to do. I can tell she wants to stop me, but it's too late. As I grasp the helmet on either side and pull, she tugs her coat tight over her chest, cowering backwards in the empty air surrounding us on the roof.

The cool air hits my flesh, feeling fresh and sharp after the humidity of the helmet. The sounds of the city rise sharply and the dim film the glass visor lays over everything is lifted.

I stand before Amber, revealed for what I am, and watch as she inhales sharply and takes several stumbling steps backwards, unable to tear her eyes away. It feels like there's something gripping my heart, tearing it downwards. I want to look away but force myself to keep my eyes on her as she squints, trying to make sense of what she's seeing. Her eyebrows are knotted together, she's tearing at her lower lip with her teeth, and trembling.

The silence is unbearable.

"So…" I shrug, try to laugh. "You afraid?"

Still staring, she nods her head, once, up and down. "Yes." I feel my hands clench, my jaw tighten. "But it doesn't change anything." She whispers then. Now I look away.

"There's only one place I can take you I know for sure is safe." I tell her.

I better call ahead.

**XIV**

Michelangelo snapped shut his cellphone and kicked his skateboard onto the ramp, leaping across the den in a few quick bounds.

"Hey bros! Bros! Look alive, you won't believe what Raph's just told me!" He pounded on the door of Donnie's lab with both fists, ignoring the 'hey!' that came from within. Darting over to the _dojo_, he slammed back the door revealing Leonardo in the midst of his _kata, _shooting Michelangelo a furious glare at the interruption.

Cackling, Michelangelo raced for the entertainment corner, strewn with empty pizza boxes, old bowls and plates bearing the remnants of past meals, soda cans and chip packets, DVD cases, resistance straps and a small barbell or two. Michelangelo leapt into the midst of the mess and began throwing things around in no particular order whilst his two brothers approached him with evil looks. They surveyed him in silence for a moment before Leonardo spoke:

"Mikey, _what_ exactly are you doing?"

Michelangelo looked up from where he was jamming DVD cases into a space between two of the screens that sat against he wall. "Dudes! We totally gotta clean this joint up!"

Donatello raised an eyebrow ridge and his lip curved up in a half-smile. "I'm not sure that's the word I'd use for what you're doing, Mikey. However, dare I enquire as to what's prompted this miraculous and entirely unprecedented interest in cleanliness?"

Exasperated, Mikey whirled around to his brothers, throwing a cushion from the floor onto the sofa. "Guys! Would you quit talkin' and give me a hand here? Raph's bringin' a girl over!"

Donatello started whilst Leonardo stepped forward, disbelieving: "_What?"_

Michelangelo straightened from where he'd been bending over, arms filled with comics, barbells and a slinky. "That's what he said, Leo! I know as much as you do. Now, do you wanna be useful and wash these dishes up?"

Donatello had whipped out his cell and tried phoning. Now he snapped it shut and turned to Leonardo, who stood, fists clenched, and sighed: "He's not answering his cell."

"How can he _do_ this?" Leonardo exploded, and his two brothers jumped. "How can be so _thoughtless_ all the damn time? What the hell is he thinking?"

"Uhh," Michelangelo glanced at Donatello, then back to his older brother. "I dunno, Leo, he sounded kind of stressed out on the phone."

"And for that matter, why did he call you instead of me?" Leonardo rounded on Michelangelo who couldn't suppress a grin.

"Maybe cos he knew you'd act like this?"

Leonardo looked then as though he might fly right off the handle. Michelangelo yelped and ducked his head down, but then Leonardo shut his eyes and breathed in deeply, calming himself. Michelangelo laughed silently at Donatello, pointing a mocking finger at Leonardo's solemn, serene expression, but Donatello merely frowned back.

After a moment, Leonardo opened his eyes again and exhaled heavily.

"I can't wait to hear his explanation for this one." He said coolly.

He did not have to wait so long.

Within the half-hour, there was the familiar humming sound from the elevator, and the doors slid open revealing Raphael and another, strange, figure, supported by his arm.

Leonardo stiffened at the sound, but remained where he was, calmly sitting on the couch gazing ahead at the show that flickered across the screen. Donatello was at his fleet of computers, tapping quickly away but could not resist glancing around the monitors. Michelangelo leapt up eagerly, hanging over the back of the sofa for a look.


	8. Chapter 7

**A.N.: **_I wrote this and now I'm all nervous and uncertain about it. Hopefully it comes off ok…_

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

**XV**

Time to face the music.

Amber was tremblin' all over as I led her into the den, gazing around her with an open mouth. She'd already had more than one shock tonight and she was in for a few more. Revealing the elevator to her got her swayin' all over the place, I thought she was about to pass out on me again. Even though I'd told her about my family, I wasn't sure how smoothly things were gonna go… from either side.

But it couldn't be helped.

"This – this is where you live?" she whispered in awe, clinging to my arm, which was enough to indicate she was freaked. Not five minutes ago she'd been keepin' her distance, arms folded defensively across her chest, not even lookin' at me. So much for bein' on the same side.

"Yeah," I responded shortly. She needn't think this was what I wanted.

The den was quiet but for the quiet buzz from the televisions. But I knew that was too good to be true. Sure enough, a moment later Mikey came bounding across the concrete, grinning.

"Hey, Raph, welcome home, bro!"

Amber gasped and ducked behind me, squinting her eyes shut. I felt a malicious thrill at that – if she thought I was a lot to handle – well, she was gonna have to learn to handle it.

Michelangelo skidded to a halt in front of us, wide grin splitting his face, big blue eyes keen. "We tidied the place up for your – uh – your guest!" He dropped me a wink while I glowered and then he grinned at Amber who was slowly moving out from behind me. "Hey, dudette! No need to be shy!"

That was the thing about Mikey. He just couldn't fake it. His face fell into outright disappointment as he looked Amber up and down. Can't say as I blamed him – Megan Fox she ain't. He recovered quickly enough, though his enthusiasm visibly waned, and stepped back gesturing to the rest of the den with a broad sweep of his arm. Amber continued to cling to me and I could feel her trembling. I wanted to shake her off. I knew the only reason she was so close was cos I was familiar. I'd seen the way she'd been lookin' at me – or not. All that talk about how she'd take me as I was, wouldn't judge me, that I could trust her – all of it just talk, as it turned out. I continued to scowl as we moved forward, following Mikey who eagerly pointed out the features of the den to her, heedless of the fact she wasn't listening, toward the corner where the televisions sprawled. She was no longer so interested in the den as she was in the bobbing up and down of Mikey's shell as he began to give her "the tour". There's a sick heavy feeling in the pit of my gut, and I realise it's disappointment, sour and strong.

From one corner, Donatello emerged, mouth set in a straight line, looking at us with a sombre, wide-eyed expression. Amber's grip on my arm tightened and I felt a vicious stab of impatience splinter down my chest. I'd explained it to her, all of it, on the way back here. She'd known what to expect and still she freaked out! Well it sure as hell weren't my problem –

Then, from over by the sofas, back to us, Leo stood up.

I guess it kind of is my problem.

I decided not to waste time on introductions. Leo was majorly pissed and putting it off would only make things worse. So I pushed past Don and Mikey and moved straight to Leo who had turned to face us, arms folded and face set in a grim expression, eyes hard on me.

"Leo," I began in a rush. "Somethin' seriously bad is goin' on topside."

"I know." He responded coolly and I pause.

"You do?"

"Yes," He turned away and walked out from around the couches. "There must be. I can't think of any other reason you'd risk the safety of our family like this."

Ah, right. Of course. I snap back at him before I can help myself. "Don't start that with me, Leo. You know this wouldn't be happenin' without good reason."

Leo snorted, shaking his head from side to side as though he could only just barely stay patient. "And I suppose phoning us to discuss this first was impossible?"

I gritted my teeth, anger gripping my head in a vice. I hadn't even considered that, and him pointing it out just pissed me off. "Can't always waste time yappin', Leo. Sometimes, _action_ is required." I hiss at him and he glares at me before turning his gaze to Amber, who's standing over near Mikey and Don, cowering against one of the big support pillars, tremblin' so hard she's curling over inwards.

Donatello is watching us silently, but Michelangelo turns to her, brow creasing in concern at her fright. "It's cool, dudette," he murmurs to her. "This is normal for them." I don't think that's what is botherin' her, Mikey.

"What, exactly, is going on Raphael?" Leo enquires evenly, and I sigh furiously. Gotta get hold of my temper or I'm not goin' to get anywhere. But it's so damn hard when he's standing tthere with that smug, know-it-all, I'm very disappointed in you expression…

"Her life is in danger." I explain quickly. "She needs a place to stay for a while, until it's sorted out."

Leo's eyes rake over Amber, quickly, but not missing a thing. I can see his jaw tighten in disapproval and it makes me madder. "You couldn't have dropped her off at the police?"

Amber finds her voice at that and laughs, fumbling in her knapsack for a cigarette. "Not likely." She mutters, voice raspy and Leo cocks an eyebrow ridge at her.

"No!" I snap at him. "Why can't you just _shuttup_ and _listen_ to me for five minutes!"

"I think," a quiet voice from behind us speaks and we all whirl around. "we would all like to listen to you, Raphael."

Splinter stands before the open door of his chamber, regarding us calmly.

_Oh geez…_

**XVI**

The girl, Amber, waited outside on the couches; supplied helpfully by Michelangelo with the remote control and a cup of coffee. At sight of Splinter she'd turned abruptly on her heel and began a shaky walk back towards the elevator. But she didn't fight when Raphael caught her up and guided her firmly back in, just squeezed her eyes shut tight and waited.

The four turtles knelt in front of their sensei in his chamber, heads bowed, as Raphael explained the situation with the disappearing street folk and the sinister factory, the attack on Amber's life and how she had no home and no where to go to be safe.

As he drew to a finish, Splinter sighed, contemplating the furred paws folded in his lap. He looked up and addressed his reckless son.

"Raphael, you have done a very thoughtless thing, exposing us and our home to this human without first discussing it with your family. Has everything I have said to you over the years fallen on deaf ears? It is not without reason that we must keep ourselves concealed from the surface world, not recklessly blundering into it without forethought or preparation."

Raphael's cheeks burned and he clenched his fists where they rested against his thighs, but did not dare to speak.

"However, what's done is done. And from what you have said, it seems there were few other choices. The girl may stay here, until it is safe for her to return above."

Raphael breathed out, feeling somewhat vindicated at that.

"Why – " Donatello began and then fell silent. Donatello would normally never speak out of turn, but the newcomer's presence had disrupted them all. Splinter motioned that he should continue. "Why can she not go to the police, Raphael?"

Oh yeah. That. He set his jaw and steeled himself. "She don't trust them."

"Why?" Michelangelo now. Raph shut his eyes.

"She's a prostitute."

He practically heard four heads swivelling on four necks to stare at him. Opening his eyes he beheld Donatello's jaw slack, Michelangelo's mouth in a small 'o' and Leonardo's eyes bulging. Splinter restrained himself to a raising of his brows before 'hemming' softly.

"She has a police record?" He enquired softly and Raphael looked up at his sensei and nodded.

"Very well." Splinter's voice took on a note of finality. "We will discuss what to do about the situation you have described later, Raphael. For now, we had best adjust ourselves, and our guest, to the circumstances we find ourselves within. You are dismissed, my sons."

They filed out silently, Leonardo not missing an opportunity to throw Raphael a harsh glare, who merely scowled in return.

Amber sat on the couch, knees drawn up to her chest, chain-smoking restlessly. But she seemed to have more or less got a hold of herself, for she did not cower to see the turtles approach her, but even managed a smile.

"Hey." Raph muttered to her and she jerked her head in response.

"Sorry to crash the party."

He slumped down in the armchair nearby and waved a hand. "Forget it. It'll all be sorted out."

The other turtles each found themselves a spot to sit down in, but no one looked at her. Indeed, the walls and floor all seemed to bear points of great interest all of a sudden. Amber looked about her edgily, half a smile sidling up her face. She flickered her eyes back to Raphael, who shrugged at her in return.

"Sooo…" she began, awkwardly. "You're giant turtles."

Michelangelo couldn't suppress a giggle. "And you're observant."

She latched onto the interaction, snickering along. "It's a talent, baby."

Raphael realised suddenly she must've been drinking, from the ever present bottle in her knapsack, because she couldn't be this calm otherwise. Sure enough, a moment later she pulled a bottle of vodka from her bag, and took a big swig, then another in quick succession.

"This is one hell of a better secret than the tinman, Raphael," she said wryly, voice cracking only slightly, recapping the bottle. Raphael shot her a warning glance. _Ixnay on the inmantay._ He thought. She merely looked confused. Leonardo unexpectedly delivered him.

"Amber, right?" Leonardo suddenly spoke up, and Raphael glanced at him sharply. Amber nodded, fixing her attention on the blue-masked turtle, unable to stop her eyes from wandering up and down over his physique as he addressed her. "Normally we try not to interfere too much with the surface world. But it's been decided that we're going to look into your situation, at the least. In the meantime – isn't there – well, isn't there some family we could get you to?"

Amber had started shaking her head violently at the word 'family', and now she stubbed her cigarette out viciously into her coat. "No, no," she muttered hastily. "I can_not_ go to my family. Trust me. I just can't."

Leonardo gritted his jaw at that and the sensitive Donatello felt the need to interject, seeing something the others hadn't seem to have considered.

"Are they – I mean, did they – "

Amber flicked her eyes over to him and gave a short, sharp laugh. "Are you serious? No, no. They didn't abuse me or molest me. They were pretty amazing, to tell you the truth. But I can't see them. I can't…. I made a choice about my life. And that choice hurts them. And I, uh, I can't stand to see that." She lit another cigarette and drew back on it deeply. "It's pretty much a selfish thing." She admitted flippantly and Michelangelo saw another opportunity.

"At least you can admit it!" he said cheerfully and Amber turned to him, looking at him with her head cocked on one side, grinning at him strangely even as the others frowned.

"You're a bit cute, aren't you?" She remarked, as though just having come to a decision about it and it didn't matter how unattractive she was, Michelangelo could never resist a compliment. He beamed at her.

Raphael sat, one leg crossed over the other, squeezing his fists open and shut. There was still one thing he hadn't told the others. And after the excitement of the night, he knew it would be preying on Amber's mind by now.

She flickered her gaze over to him and he knew what the weight of it meant. He refused to look at her.

"So," Donatello spoke up again. "This must've been a pretty rough night for you. Are you coping ok?"

She shrugged, exhaling in one big puff. "I'm rattled, I'll be honest. But I know Raphael's a good guy, I've still got half a bottle of vodka left, and once I fix everything will be sweet."

"Fix?" Leonardo sat forward in his chair, gripping the arms of it and staring at her.

She glanced at him, then turned her eyes to Raphael. "Yeah," she began slowly. "I'm a user. Heroin." Amber never wasted time sidling around the issue anymore.

Leonardo looked at Raphael with disbelieving rage, then jumped to his feet, storming away from the couches and into the main space of the den, his face frightening in its fixed calm. Donatello gazed at his hands. Michelangelo stared at Amber, utterly enthralled by this bizarre creature.

Amber elected to say nothing and began fumbling in her knapsack. The more her thoughts turned towards fixing, the less concerned she seemed with what had suddenly happened in her life. She withdrew a small plastic box, popping the lid open, while Leonardo stormed in the background. Michelangelo strained his neck, trying to see what was in the box, whilst Donatello's mouth twisted uncomfortably. He wanted to speak up, say that he didn't want to see this happening and that he didn't think Mikey should either, but between Raphael's silent glowering and Leonardo's fuming, he didn't quite dare.

He didn't have to. After a moment's pacing, Leonardo returned, looming over Amber where she sat.

"You can't do that here." His voice was soft, rage clouding it. "I won't have you doing that in front of my brothers."

She glanced up at him, sorting through the things in her box. "I wasn't plannin' to, believe me, baby. I respect this is your home. Just show me… I don't know… a pipe or somethin'. I can do it there." She finally found what she was looking for and withdrew it, a small square of foil, glinting dully beneath the overhead lights. Michelangelo made a little "ooooh" of awe.

Leonardo remained standing, quivering. Raphael, strangely, had not said anything. If Donatello didn't know better, he'd say that he was bullied by Leonardo's anger, as much as Donatello had been bullied by Raphael's in the past.

The truth was Raphael didn't want to see this happening as well, and was beginning to realise exactly the sort of conflict he'd brought into their home, and Leonardo's fury was cowing him. He could not help the mushroom of shame that bloomed in his chest and it made him furious.

Amber stood, tried to give them all a smile, took the plastic box tucked under one arm as she moved away from the sofas, fumbling with the foil. "Raphael," she asked, "could you please – " Then she stopped, stock still, shoulders hunching over with her back to them.

She exhaled in one long, unsteady breath and Michelangelo couldn't resist.

"What?" He queried, but it was another long moment before Amber turned back to them, distress stamped over her features.

"Um…" she began, "I don't have any stuff with me. It's all gone."

Raphael's shoulders sunk in relief. None of them said anything. Amber quavered, stepped forward and dropped a hand to Raphael's shoulder, her fear of him suddenly evaporated in the face of a greater one.

"I need to go get some stuff, Raphael."

Raphael finally sprung into action, leaping to his feet and turning on Amber. "No way, Amber. You can't go topside. They're gonna be lookin' for you real hard now because they're gonna be sure more than ever you know somethin' they'd rather you didn't."

Amber's eyes were growing red and wide, desperation tingling there. "Ok. Ok. Sure. Ok. So you go get it for me." She implored, reaching out a trembling hand to grip one of his, all caution gone, abject need taking over.

"No. Way." Leonardo spat the words from behind them and Raphael shot him a vicious glare before turning back to Amber.

"There's so many reasons I can't do that, Amber."

She stared at him in disbelief for a long moment, lower lip quivering. Then she swallowed hard a few times and tried again. "If I don't fix soon, I'm going to get really sick. Do you understand? _Really_ sick. Please. I'll give you the money."

Raphael had never heard her sound quite so imploring, so weak. It tipped his stomach up violently. He tore himself away from her grasp and turned his back to her. "It ain't about that, Amber."

Donatello leapt up suddenly and moved away from them, head bowed, heading towards his lab and computer system.

Amber's face was taking on a curiously sneering expression, her eyes growing larger and wilder, teeth baring.

"Did you plan this?" She hissed at Raphael, savagely, eyes sparking with dull venom. "You two-faced fucker."

He strode away from her, not bothering to reply and she moved after him, her voice rising to a shout.

"You fucking bastard, I need it, goddamnit! What is your fucking problem?"

He disappeared into the _dojo_ and she turned around, glaring at Leonardo who regarded her with furious calm, moving restlessly from foot to foot, hissing between her teeth, no longer caring about the oddity of her circumstances.

"I'm going to get _sick!_ Do you understand that?"

Donatello suddenly reappeared, holding a piece of paper he'd printed out.

"Well," he began carefully. "I did a search on the 'net and according to this you can expect to experience nausea and vomiting, cramping, headaches, diarrhoea, chills, aches and pains and that it should be over in approximately seven days…" He looked sheepishly up at Amber, who was regarded him incredulously with bared teeth. "… I mean, it doesn't sound very pleasant, but it's not going to kill you." He glanced nervously at Leonardo, who was listening silently, hands in loose fists by his side. From the _dojo_ came the sounds of Raphael wreaking hell on the punching bag. "We're prepared to house you and protect you, which really kind of compromises our security. If you go back out there you'll almost certainly be killed. I think we're just going to have to compromise on this."

Michelangelo had been watching the whole scene with an open mouth and chin in hand. It was like a TV soap opera, happening right here in his very own home! Dude!

Donatello glanced from Amber to Leonardo and back again. She was still staring at him, crazed, and he became suddenly nervous she might get violent. Leonardo's sombre expression had given way to a small, encouraging smile he gave first to Donatello then turned to Amber.

She was frozen for several long moments, her oversized red coat dangling open revealing skinny legs beneath it, split knuckles red from the way she squeezed them, eyes red and watery. Then, abruptly, her face collapsed into one of perfect distress, anguish spreading out from her knotted eyebrows and downwards, her eyes squeezing shut and her mouth contorting. She let out a wail and collapsed onto her knees.


	9. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

**XVII**

The den has two bathrooms. Small mercies.

Amber barricaded herself in the smaller of the two, the downstairs one, that had nothin' but a toilet and sink in it.

Didn't seem to matter where in the den you went, the sound of her retchin' and pukin' seemed to reach every corner. For once I was glad of Mikey's trashy pop rock blasting away at top volume whenever he hit the ramp. I moved between my room, where I could play my own music full bolt, the kitchen and the televisions. I did not go near the bathroom.

Donnie kept leavin' big jugs of water outside the door. "She needs to stay hydrated." He explained, and after doin' what he does best and trawlin' the web, put through a special order to April.

I was over by the tubes, watching the Transformers download – _without_ Mikey this time - when she delivered the packets of valium with a concerned expression, asking Don if there was anythin' he wanted to tell her.

I could feel him glancin' at me as he explained it had to do with a project he was workin' on. I knew he hated lying to her, but somehow, we'd come to a silent agreement not to say anything to anyone about the withdrawin' junkie in our downstairs bathroom. Not until we'd got this thing sorted out.

I was leavin' all that up to Leo and Don.

I was too pissed off at Amber to want to get involved anymore. At least, in her side of things.

That first night she'd been here, I'd vented my frustrations with her and the whole stinkin' situation well into the night. Vaguely, distantly, one by one I heard my brothers and father go to bed. I kept on, pumpin' weights, moving through _kata_, strength-training, weapons practice. It wasn't long after I heard Donnie flick off his monitors for the night that the _dojo_ door slid softly open, letting in a rush of cool air like a whisper against my cheek.

I hadn't turned around. I didn't need to.

She'd approached me hesitantly over the straw matting, a fit of violent coughing overcoming her so long that I'd succumbed and turned to glare at her.

She'd been so pale her freckles looked painted on against the clammy pallor of her flesh; a thin sheen of sweat coating every bare space of skin not covered by her coat. She'd been trembling and staring at me hopelessly from livid, sunken eyes.

I'd felt sick with disgust when she started to beg me. I kept on ignorin' her until she began to cry; thin, keening sobs that tore apart the still air of our den. Then I'd rounded on her.

"I. Will. Not. " I'd hissed at her through clenched teeth, as quietly as I was able and she rolled into a ball at my feet. "You're the one who's always talkin' about the right to choose – well I choose to say no."

She'd spun onto her knees, propping herself upright, spitting at me: "Then let me go! Let me go get it myself!"

And why shouldn't I let her go? If she wanted to end up dead in a ditch somewhere, that was her choice too, right?

I couldn't say, then, why I just jerked my head stubbornly, spinning my _sai_ in offensive strikes. She didn't know how to get out of here. Not without getting lost in a maze of underground tunnels that could wind up being her tomb.

She'd kept on crying, face buried in the mats, for a few long moments before she got a hold of herself, breathing in deeply, smoothing the damp hair back from her face and sitting upright once more.

"What do you want from me?" she'd asked me composedly. "What do you want that will convince you? There's a lot I'm prepared to give, Raphael."

I'd paused. But only for a moment.

"You make me sick," I'd growled and she'd laughed, a nasty, scoffing sound.

"The guardian angel, Raphael, sees fit to judge the lowly."

I'd whipped around to her, sneering. "You needn't make like you're any better. I seen the way you been reacting to me and my family, Amber. "

She'd held my eyes for a long moment, hers red and swollen near shut from her emotion, then staggered to her feet and left the _dojo_. I'd turned and pummelled the punching bag so hard it jerked loose at the bolt.

She'd gone straight to the bathroom and shut herself in and I hadn't seen or spoken to her since.

As to what had happened to her pals from the streets; well, I was keen to get started on that. _Real_ keen in fact. The memory of that warehouse kept sparkin' up in my head, along with the thug who'd been unloading those crates, who'd been sent after Amber. I was just achin' to pay them a visit and loosen a few mouths.

But Splinter had decreed no action until we got some answers from Don and whatever he could dig up through his computers. Startin' with the address I gave him.

I wasn't listenin' when he rapped on the bathroom door with another packet of valium and jug of water. The door opened a crack and she snatched them from him, slamming the door shut again quickly. If there was any sort of exchange, I didn't hear it. I fixed my eyes on the television as Donnie came back around, sighing and scratching the back of his neck, blinking eyes bloodshot from weariness.

From the corner of my eye I caught him hesitate mid-step and then move towards me.

"She'll be okay, Raph. You don't need to worry." He offered to me, and I glowered, still not looking at him, watching as Optimus Prime and Megatron tore each other apart.

"I ain't worried. You ask me, she deserves it."

I heard him sigh, could imagine the way his shoulders slumped with weariness. "Okay, Raph. I'll see you tomorrow."

There was a brief lull when he'd gone, a momentary silence in which I heard the faint whimpering. I snatched up the remote and hit the volume button hard, the soundtrack of explosions and gunfire swelling to consume the space about me.

I felt the approach, rather than heard it, but I was expecting anyone but Leo to sit down beside me, eyes similarly fixed at the action flickering in front of us.

"Hey." He offered. I only grunted in response.

"Trouble sleeping?"

"Mmmphf." I wasn't about to get into an argument with Leo now. I really was not in the mood.

I heard him sigh, caught a flash of movement. He was gazing down into his lap. I felt suddenly uncomfortable. I hoped he wasn't goin' to try and have another heart to heart with me. God knows, we hadn't been gettin' along so great lately, but I didn't understand his constant need to bring it up. We just riled each other up, that's all. No biggie.

The movie soundtrack faded out again and Amber's groaning rose to fill the silence. Leo flinched and then spoke.

"I suppose you hate me for that?" Funny how he sounded, kind of dejected, resigned. I couldn't help grinning. Could always string him along, I suppose.

I chose not to.

"To be honest… I'm kinda glad."

I hesitated a long moment before glancing at him shiftily, from the very corner of my eye, only to find he was doing the same. Almost shyly, he managed a grin and I managed one back.

"Don't' tell her that though, eh?" And his smile widened.

"I won't."

**XVIII**

Donatello yawned, scratched his plastron, stretched his arms up high above his head.

Tracking down the individuals or corporation behind ownership of the factory address Raphael had given him had proven more difficult than he'd anticipated. Firstly, it had been purchased in a private auction and he'd had to track down the real estate agency who'd managed it, the previous owners and then finally the new buyers. But that company had been just a dummy, a figurehead set up for the express purpose of buying land and properties. He'd had to trace them back to another company they were subsidiary of, a company devoted to new developments. But then, that company had been just a subsidiary of another one – and so it had gone on.

Finally, he'd reached the end. At least, so he thought. BioGlo. Even that had been just a trading name for BioGenDRT Corporation.

Already the lack of transparency had got Donatello's hackles up and he huddled over the computer monitors, rattling away at the keys. The entire den was completely dark, everyone else long gone to bed. Donatello's green flesh was washed in a strange hue of blue that many found eerie, unreal, even creepy the way it broke the still darkness of night, softly illuminating a limited space around it. Donatello, on the other hand, found it reassuring, with an almost tangible touch where it fell against him. He'd had to locate their server –and hack into it. Then decipher the files he found in there. The server had not been easy, a sophisticated system that had called for hours of deciphering.

He'd checked on Raphael's disturbed friend a short while before, only to find her passed out on the bathroom tiles. It had been three days since she'd been off her heroin, and if his research was reliable, the worst of it would be over now. Thank God! It had really put everyone on edge, but Raphael most especially. Donatello wasn't entirely sure exactly how well he knew her, but he was responding to the whole ordeal in a peculiarly Raphael fashion – utterly excessive in blunt emotion. Donatello didn't even bother to try investigating it further – the burden of one secret was more than enough. He felt a wave of guilt as he thought of Leo's annoyance and concern over the last few days. He, Donatello, had known something about what Raph had been up to but he had promised not to say anything. Now he was torn between risking Raphael's betrayed rage, or Leonardo's furious disappointment. Not much of a choice, really.

Donatello sighed. The lines of code running before him were doing his head in. He was trying to locate, in BioGenDRT's main database, the precise server location and passwords for the warehouse system. But the encryptions seemed to reshuffle themselves every hour or so, meaning he had to start all over again. Sheesh, he could really use April's help on this… maybe tomorrow when he had a fresh mind and a clear perspective he could start over. Sometimes, when he'd been working with a particularly difficult code for hours on end, the answers came to him during sleep, as though he'd known them all along and it only required a little relaxation to coax them from the hidden corners of his brain.

He yawned again and kept idly tapping away with one hand, trying different routes and code lines, only one eye on the monitor as he reached for his mug and took a swill, grimacing. The coffee had long gone cold and was bitter in his mouth but he swallowed hard around it, relishing the way it spread out from his gut like a spark of electricity.

Suddenly there was a beep and a flicker on the monitor in front of him, and he sat bolt upright, fixing both eyes on the screen.

_He'd done it._

He'd not only located the server, he'd entered it.

Donatello sat, gazing at the screen uncomprehendingly for a long moment, eyes wide. Then he punched both fists into the air. _YESSSSS! THE WINNAH! _He thought, then quickly recovered himself, with a sheepish grin to the flickering screen before him.

Better act fast.

**XIX**

She became aware that she was soaking wet and gasping for breath. Drowning then. Somehow. She was freezing and yet an uncomfortable burning pain throbbed through her body, even while she shivered against the bitter icy wetness.

Behind the roar in her ears she could just make out a thin, keening sound and as the roar subsided she became aware it was she who was making the noise and she kicked out against it, against the sound, against her submersion.

Her feet hit something dull and hard, sending a racketing pain reverberating up her legs. She hissed, lifted her head only to feel it spin, spin around like she was in the goddamn Exorcist, and laid it back down. Something solid and cool beneath her.

Groaning, she tried to move one arm, the one nearest her face, and felt it obey, fingertips creeping tremulously across whatever cool surface she lay upon until they hit something cold, wet and smelly.

She jerked her hand back, the elbow extending over her side and slamming into something hard behind her, a sharp pain that jammed her finally out of her delusion and back into the present.

Her eyes creaked open slowly, feeling heavy and swollen. A cool blue-white filled her gaze, blurring in slowly then gradually and steadily separating and defining. Tiles. Stretching before her and upwards. She was in a bathroom.

Slowly, carefully, she twisted her head slightly and saw the mess her fingertips had come into contact with a moment ago. Vomit. _Her _vomit.

What had happened? Had she injected some bad gear?

Then suddenly, she remembered.

Struggling into a sitting position, she felt the sticky, heavy wetness between her legs and realised she'd pissed herself, as well. Wonderful. Naked and shivering she pulled her legs up, fighting the waves of giddy nausea that threatened to overcome her as she did so, reaching out for her coat and trying as little as possible to move her head about as she tugged it towards her, covering her naked body with it.

She couldn't say how long it had been like this. Half her time she spent crouching over the toilet bowl, the other half slumped upon it. She alternated between fits of raging heat so that she threw her clothes as far from her as possible, rolling around on icy tiles that could never be quite cool enough; to trembling attacks of cold, bundling up in her coat and crouching behind the cistern for warmth.

The cramps that constantly wracked her gut made her whimper. Somehow, she kept finding valium and water nearby. She never questioned, just swallowed pill after pill and drank as deeply as she could manage.

Yet somehow, this was the easier thing to do. Easier than having to be outside… dealing with everything. With Maria and the creep in the convertible… and the freak creatures, of which it would seem Raphael was one. So long as she was this sick they wouldn't come near her. She could huddle in here, by herself, alone. She wouldn't have to talk with them, try to swallow the bizarre sight of their strangely expressive and inhuman faces, forming words, arguing and reasoning with her. She shuddered, and drank deeply from one of the jugs, cool water slurping over the sides and running down her chin, splashing onto her freckled breastbone. Monsters. Monsters. She was alone, in the sewers, coming off the junk with monsters who had plumbing. The thought unexpectedly made her laugh and she choked on the water, breaking into a coughing fit that had her hunched over herself and sputtering onto the tiles. If only she could fix she could handle this better. She wouldn't mind. She could take them as they were. It didn't matter. She didn't have to be near them, in here. Didn't have to worry about any of that, for a while. No wonder Raphael would never let her see him. Raphael…

She felt a stabbing pain tear up from her breast then, and turned towards the toilet bowl, heaving into it. Nothing.

And so long as she was down here, she was safe from whatever was going on up there. In truth, that was all that had stopped her from trying to find her way out and back to Eva's at first, although she could barely move now. If the creep had wanted to kill her, he could've just put a bullet through her head, or snapped her neck. He'd drugged her though, which meant he must've been meaning to take her someplace.

Amber didn't really want to know what he'd been planning to do to her there.

**XX**

Leonardo was sitting upright on his futon, contentedly reading a book, enjoying these short moments of sanctuary and calm, when there was a rap at his door.

He looked up from the pages. Quiet, but not assured, like Master Splinter's, but ever so slightly hesitant. Donatello, of course. Michelangelo and Raphael, when they bothered knocking, were anything but quiet.

"Come in, Donnie." He called out and quickly memorised the page number he was at as Donatello slid open the door and entered.

"Hows it going?" Donatello queried, a sheaf of printouts clutched in one hand, gentle smile upon his lips and Leonardo stretched his arms above his head so that a spot in his back cracked.

"You know. Apart from having a withdrawing heroin addict in the bathroom, a moody younger brother determined to defy me at every turn and an impending soul-searching pilgrimage across the sea, pretty good."

Donatello's grin was suddenly conspiratorial as he sat down next to Leonardo, quirking an eyebridge. "You forgot to mention the hyperactive libido of a seventeen year old male."

Leonardo placed his book on his bedside table, neatly aligning it with the corners. "Yes well. I didn't think that bore emphasis."

The two chuckled together in the dim golden light of Leonardo's bedroom, throwing a dusky shadow over the futon where they sat.

"What's up, Donnie?" Leo got to the point when he saw his reserved brother glance at the printouts in his hand.

Donatello wanted to confess; to admit that Raphael and he had spoken about this puzzle a few nights ago, that he'd had an inkling of what the family hothead might be about to do.

"I managed to track ownership of the warehouse to a particular company." He began instead, holding up a hand when Leonardo started to congratulate him.

"It wasn't easy and it won't be easy to do so again." He said sombrely. "But what I found there was definitely disturbing. Large quantities of various chemicals and genetics material being purchased and sold. Some of it was stuff I didn't even recognise, but the file information didn't sound real good."

Donatello held out the sheaf of papers and Leonardo took them, brow creased in thought.

"Anything on the missing people?" he queried, to which Donatello shook his head.

"Not yet. But I'm going to keep looking."

Leonardo flipped through the printouts, not wanting to admit the technical-speak didn't really mean anything to him. Instead he asked a question that had been playing on his mind for awhile.

"Do you think the Garbageman has something to do with this, Don?"

Donatello exhaled and raised his eyebrow ridges. "That occurred to me too, Leo, but in all honesty, I don't think so. It just doesn't fit his M.O. The Garbageman just pounced randomly, at night, and he stuck to the homeless only. He wanted free labour, there was nothing to do with genetics or chemical research. Whatever's going on here, it seems seriously premeditated with a sophisticated operation behind it."

Worse luck. Leonardo sighed, shoulders slumping.

"I hate to admit it, but Raphael seems to have really stumbled across something here. We need to find these missing people, Don."

His gentle younger brother reached out a hand, touching his shoulder.

"I know, Leo."


	10. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER NINE**

**XXI**

"Now _that_ is one fine piece of female flesh," Michelangelo stated, poking his head out from his cubby and jerking a thumb towards Hayden Panettiere flickering across the screens. _Heroes_ was on, and Michelangelo was ensconced comfortably within a small fort built of sofa cushions and rugs, bottle of soda by one elbow, bowl of fresh popcorn by the other and assortment of chocolate bars piled up in front of him.

Of all the brothers, Michelangelo was the most devoted to junk food. Splinter was generally strict about the food they could consume, cautioning them that elite athletes' and superior ninjas' inner health was as vital to their success as their outer. Most of the consumption of junk subsequently happened on the sly, with approved exceptions – like watching _Heroes_.

Raphael was sitting on the couch behind him, arms folded and brow furrowed. He ignored Michelangelo, concentrating only on the show playing out in front of them.

Behind them the click of a door opening signalled someone approaching. Then a cough, hacking and sharp. Raphael tensed.

Amber came into view around the couches, skinny arms and legs dangling out of the short red dress she wore. She moved slowly and, if possible, had lost even more weight and grown more sallow over the last three days. She didn't hesitate, though kept her eyes firmly on the ground, negotiating the space between toys, wrappers and cushions that were strewn there, and made her way to the space on the couch next to Raphael.

"Hey." She murmured and he flicked his eyes onto her, briefly.

"Hey."

At the sound Michelangelo popped his head out of the fort again, peering around the edge of it with a wide grin. "Hey dudette! I was beginning to think you'd fallen in!"

She smiled, it creeping slowly across her face. "I almost did."

"How you feeling?"

"Like three shades of shit." She sighed, running a hand over her hair, pulling it up behind her and tying it into a bun. "But the valium helps a lot." She paused a moment then added, as an afterthought. "Thanks for asking." The words sounded awkward and her gaze fluttered away to run up the supporting pillar nearby, but Michelangelo was oblivious, grinning away, Hayden Panettiere quite forgotten now that this bizarre novelty had emerged once more. Raphael continued to stare ahead, grinding his teeth but shifting his arms, one up on the arm of the sofa, the other across the back of it, determined to look as relaxed and nonchalant as possible.

Michelangelo chewed around his mouthful of popcorn then suddenly proffered the bowl to her.

She shook her head slightly, arms crossed over her bony chest protectively.

"C'mon!" he wheedled. "If you haven't thrown up your stomach yet you gotta be hungry."

She cocked her head to the side a little and looked at the fluffy white and yellow clouds spilling over each other in the bowl, heavily buttered and salted, and a little frown appeared on her forehead.

"I can't believe I'm about to say this…" she muttered. "… but that actually looks kind of good."

Tentatively she outstretched an arm, fingertips flickered over the popcorn then closing around a couple of pieces. She put them in her mouth, chewing gingerly. Michelangelo was using the opportunity to give her a good looking over. The coat and cap she'd been wearing when she arrived had obscured a clear view. What a weird human this was! His eyes trailed down, over her knees and down her calves -

"What happened to your feet?" He couldn't help exclaiming then, and swallowing hard, as though it was painful, she leaned forward a little to follow his gaze then gave a little snort.

"They're just tracks." She explained the ugly purple circles and lines patterned around her toes. Some of them were scabbed over, some were puffy and swollen. "A lot of the veins in my arms have collapsed so sometimes I just don't bother with them. "

Michelangelo's eyes widened. "Say _what?_"

She tittered, then uncrossed her arms, extending them fully and turning them outwards for his benefit. A fine pattern of white and red scars decorated the crook of her elbows and forearms, especially concentrated in the left. There were some of the same purple circles and lines as her feet bore. Michelangelo tried very, very hard not to cringe or pull a face but a tingling shudder ran through him nonetheless. Yeouch!

"Looks – uh – kinda painful." He said lamely then looked desperately about him as she smiled sardonically, desperate for anything to change the conversational path. "Uuh – more popcorn?"

She leant forward again and took some more. "Yeah, actually. Shit. I think I'm hungry."

"There's some left over pasta on the coffee table."

She pushed forward, heavily, wobbled a little then walked over to the coffee table. He ducked back into his fort and leant out the other side to watch her. As she crouched down to pick at the bowl, the low cut back of her little dress displayed an alarmingly prominent set of ribs and spine. Michelangelo could not help the shock that contorted his face then and turned to Raphael, who continued to just _sit there_, like a _dweeb_, and jerked a thumb at the sight, mouthing the word "eeeewwwww!" to his recalcitrant brother. No response. Well, maybe he frowned a little more, but it could sometimes be hard to tell with Raph.

Amber turned back from the coffee table, empty handed.

"No good?" He enquired and she shook her head.

"I'm a vegetarian." She offered as an explanation, then rolled her eyes. "Can't believe I just said that. Like it would matter anymore…"

"So is Leo!" Michelangelo exclaimed, pleased that this strange girl and his sensible older brother had something they could connect over. "Hey that will make my job so much easier!"

Amber just stared at him, disbelieving for a second, before half-laughing, raising a hand to her forehead, kneading at a temple.

"You know…" she began, shaking her head, "I don't even know your goddamn name."

There'd been no introductions the night of her arrival. After the decision had been made about the smack, Amber had retreated to a dark corner of the den, and stayed there, head on her knees, until they'd all gone to bed. Mikey didn't take it personally.

Now he extended an eager arm and when Amber tentatively put her hand in his, shook it vigorously. "Michelangelo." He offered. "Or Mikey. Or Mike. I'll answer to all three. You could also try Battle Nexus Champion, Supreme Master of Wielding of _Nunchakus_, Legendary Lord of the Skateboard – "

"Annoying and Slightly Retarded Swell-Head" Raphael interjected sneeringly and Michelangelo grinned as Amber's head snapped round to gape at him.

"Hey! He lives! Thought you were having an out of body experience or somethin' there, dude." Raphael snorted and Michelangelo switched his glance back to Amber.

"Heeeey! I've got a great idea!"

"Oh no" Raphael muttered, as Michelangelo leapt to his feet, wondering why he hadn't though it before.

"I'll cook for you!" He continued, excitedly. "Oh man, of course! Sustenance is what you need and there's nothing more satisfying or nutritional than traditional home-cookin'! Sit back and relax, Chef Mikey will soon delight and entice with his culinary expertise!" The enthusiastic turtle managed to collapse his fort as he disentangled himself from the rugs wrapped around him, stumbled out of the den corner and headed for the kitchen, suddenly inspired, leaving Raphael and Amber to sit in awkward silence, both staring ahead.

For all the posturing he managed to adopt, Raphael's gut was churning. Only a few nights ago this girl had almost felt like his friend – now she was freaking out over the reality of what he was. Not only that but he was the cause behind her being forcibly obliged to kick a habit she really didn't want to.

The longer they sat in silence, the greater his turmoil grew. He was intensely aware of her nearness, the long expanse of white thigh that emerged from the skirt of her dress, the way the dress gaped open at the neck, revealing sharp collarbones, the lock of hair that curved over her cheek, swept up and away to join the untidy bunch at the back of her neck.

He didn't want her to die, he knew that much. He didn't want to see her get hurt. The anxiety that had prompted him to watch her continuously the night of her attack had been an unpleasant weight inside him – and to find it justified was a kick in the gut.

But he couldn't argue with how keen he'd been to insist she couldn't leave – that he couldn't get her smack for her.

So at least they'd be equal partners in resentment.

Suddenly she spoke: "I'm sorry." He roused himself, turned to look at her, eyes widening ever so slightly. She kept her eyes trained ahead. "I'm sorry for freaking out on you. You're right. I made promises to you, many times, and I broke them. You've saved my life twice now. " Finally she twisted her head around to look at him, right in the eye. "Thank you."

He shrugged, turned away again. "It's what I do. Don't take it too personal."

She sniffed, laughed under her breath, looked at her knees. "Right. Of course."

She suddenly moved over on the couch, closer to him, and he felt a curious panic knot his stomach. His arm was still across the back of the couch. If he dropped it, it would be around her shoulders.

"Were you named for the angel?" She queried after another long pause and he shook his head, throat dry.

"For the Renaissance painter."

"I thought it was a fake name." She told him. "Since you acted as a guardian angel and all. Everyone around that area got a few names they go by. I've been Amber all along, ten years."

Finally he managed to look at her again. Shit, she was a mess. He realised she was trembling, hunched over as though she was in pain, though he couldn't see it on her face. His gaze flickered over her features, unable to settle on her eyes, blue and unblinking in the glow of the television screen. "I had another name, once. Never told another soul since I took Amber on though. Well, the police know it, but not cos I told them. Prefer to keep it to myself, you know? It's just mine, that way. Secret part of me I don't have to share."

From the kitchen the sounds of pots and pans clanging could be heard, the fridge door opening and closing, Michelangelo chuckling to himself, evidently pleased with his master-stroke. Amber continued to look at him, holding him in her gaze, her pale lips slightly parted and coated with a thin yellow film.

"It's Alex." She said finally, and blinked.

**XXII**

The worst of it seemed to be over. The vomiting and diarrhoea ceased and the valium was taking the edge off the pain now and actually seemed to be cultivating an appetite. The playful, enthusiastic little creature had cooked her vegetable noodle soup and for the first time in as long as she could remember, she relished the savoury flavour. She was still experiencing cramping and chills but the soup was soothing, hot and tasty with a piece of bread dunked in.

She paused to ponder the fact she was eating food – good food – cooked by a monster but found the concept far too bizarre to bear too much contemplation. Best just not to think about it. If only she could fix…

… and then there was Raphael, who seemed determined to hate her. Once she came through the haze of her pain, her thoughts began to clear and she became aware of how awful her behaviour must've seemed to him. He _was_ right – all those discussions about how she wouldn't judge him, how nothing about his appearance would freak her out – and she'd completely flipped.

He was still the same Raphael, wasn't he?

She realised then she did not want to lose his friendship. Monster or not, he sure made a long, cold night more interesting.

Being clear was a strange enough experience. Everything felt difficult, even dragging a cigarette from her knapsack and lighting it, and everything made her break out in a sweat. She tapped the packet, checking what was left, and exhaled dejectedly. Would he agree to get cigarettes for her? Or would that be denied now, as well?

She did not see the other three creatures until late in the afternoon. The rat – Splinter, as he was introduced – brought her a special brew of tea. Unexpectedly, she'd been touched, her hand shaking as she took the cup. A cup of tea, made for her by a giant rat. _Don't analyse it_, she hissed at herself as she'd fumbled over her thanks, suddenly cowed by the serene, intelligent glow in his eyes. _Don't think about it. Just accept it._

He'd laid a gnarled paw on her forehead, politely disregarding her flinch, and gazed searchingly into her face for a long moment. She couldn't tear her eyes away. He was wearing a long burgundy robe, what's more, it appeared oriental in design. This couldn't possibly get any weirder.

He'd seemed satisfied by her condition for he'd moved away then with a small, thoughtful "hmph.", leaving her shaking and intimidated.

The playful one – Michelangelo – had been unable to stop staring at her skinny arms and legs and didn't seem to understand that her shaking hands were a permanent fixture. He'd disappeared on the level above, leaping up to it in fluid movement that tipped her stomach upside down and reappeared moments later with a pair of baggy sweatpants and a hoodie. Both were XXL – for when they needed to go topside – the explanation had appeared in his constant stream of chatter – and the elastic was too big for her. But it was something. He sat by her side in front of the televisions, eating near constantly and supplying endless DVDs and cheerful banter for her entertainment. Through him she learned of their lives here below the city, their age, their martial arts training, all of it delivered with absolute blitheness as though he was incapable of comprehending how incredible, how unreal it all was. She could only sit there and listen dully, her fogged mind struggling to keep up with the revelations, and longing for a hit to take away the weirdness, or the fact that she noticed it.

Raphael stayed away.

The other two turtle creatures had not appeared until the sombre, commanding one called a meeting, after spending some time in the rat's chambers. Then the shy one emerged from an old train carriage, Raphael from the fighting-room and they'd all moved to where Amber and Michelangelo huddled in front of the television.

As they assembled in front of her, Amber sunk down into the sofa cushions and suddenly fumbled for her sunglasses, putting them on. This way she could examine them blatantly without their knowing. She couldn't decide who to focus on the most – she was still struggling to deal with their incredible grace and fluidity of movement, their long muscular limbs and strange, expressive faces.

The commanding one picked up the remote and switched off the televisions, disregarding Michelangelo's "hey!" of protest, silencing further argument with a sombre glance. Then he'd turned to Amber.

"Raphael and Michelangelo you seem to know." His voice was calm, quiet and even. "I am Leonardo, and this is my other brother Donatello."

Donatello made a small gesture with his fingertips from where he sat in a recliner, ankles crossed over the other. How could a face like that carry so much emotion, so much feeling in it? She nodded to indicate she understood and Leonardo continued:

"We are mutants and we are brothers. We regard Splinter as our father and master. He has trained and raised us since our infanthood. We are a family and there is nothing that we will permit to disrupt the sanctity of this bond and the safety of our kin. First and foremost, we protect each other and our home, we will not – "

"She gets it, Leo!" Raphael sneered and Leonardo shot him a sharp glare, merest hint of irritation in the slope of his mouth. Michelangelo nudged her conspiratorially and she started, feeling the hint of strength behind it.

"I understand," she finally managed to say, voice rasping. "I've kept a lot of secrets over the years."

Leonardo nodded, face composed once more. She couldn't believe the depth of feeling his eyes, how warm and alive they were, glittering in the overhead light. "However, we do not believe in the detainment of people against their will. We find such a violation abhorrent." The irony seemed lost on him and she struggled to suppress a smile. "Since it seems the police will require some tangible evidence before they act on the disappearances of your friends, we are prepared to investigate the situation and do what we can to dismantle whatever operation these – researchers – seem to be running."

She didn't say anything. He – or they – seemed to think she was more involved in this than she was. How had things gotten so quickly to this level?

"Donatello has been working night and day and has managed to uncover some information regarding the address you provided us with. Donnie?"

The shy turtle hemmed a little as four heads swivelled to regard him, then shuffled through a stack of papers in his hand. She watched as his oversized fingers rifled through them delicately. _Did they have fingerprints?_ She wondered. Then he divulged the information he'd shared with Leonardo earlier and what he'd found since, the nuances of his voice soft and rounded to her ear.

"Best I can make out, it's some sort of genetic research facility. However, it seems to be carried out in a very hush-hush fashion, which makes me suspicious. There's no transparency to the company and that alone indicates illegal activity, but of what sort, I couldn't tell you. There's a very large, very powerful corporation behind it all and this facility is only one aspect of a billion-dollar enterprise that involves multiple industries; many well known businesses are subsidiaries of this corporation. So once again, the covert nature of the operation seems unusual and highly suspect. From what Raphael has already uncovered, their equipment is state-of-the-art – so why then choose an old, crumbling edifice to house them? And why leave it in such a state of disrepair? I have not, as yet, been able to locate any information on the missing people, but I've been through only a quarter of their files. I'll keep looking, but I definitely think this is worth looking into closer – if you know what I mean." He glanced at Leonardo, who nodded, once, a grim set to his mouth.

Swivelling around he addressed his brothers: "Raphael, Michelangelo, whilst Donatello keeps searching through the computer files, the two of you can scout the warehouse tonight. "

"YES!" Michelangelo celebrated, shooting one fist out in front of him, the muscles on his arm flexed and taut. She eyed them, her lips slightly parted.

Raphael looked somewhat surprised.

"What are you gonna do then, Fearless?" he enquired, barely able to keep a note of belligerence from his voice. She could see he was bigger than the others, bore marks they didn't. The flesh wound he'd sustained from the other night had a piece of tape over it. Leonardo turned to look at Amber, managed a smile.

"I'm going to remain here with our guest and go over the last few months with her, see if there's any more information she can give us." She was glad to be wearing her sunglasses, concealing her naked gaze from his scrutiny. "Now that she's cleaned up a little, she might be able to recall more. " She wanted to scoff '_not likely'_, but refrained. For all his composure and authority, he seemed somewhat naive beneath it all, and it was almost endearing. He continued, a little slower now, folding his arms across his plated-chest. "We also might, " he said carefully, "be able to decide on a rehab facility we can deliver you to, once this is all sorted out."

She might've been pleased to see Raphael shut his eyes in strained patience if she'd been watching. But her eyes remained glued on Leonardo's face, that familiar bubble of anger boiling away in her breast.

"Who says I'm goin' to rehab?" she snapped roughly, sitting up, and he raised an eye ridge at her.

"Well – don't you want to – now that you're off the drug?" He sounded confused and she was mollified somewhat to realise he wasn't trying to tell her what to do – he genuinely believed she'd want to stay clean, now. She laughed, pushed her sunglasses up on her head.

"I don't wanna quit!" She told him. "I never wanted to quit! I'm quite happy the way I am!"

Leonardo pursed his lips, startled. "But – but – why would you want to live the way you do? Surely the last few days have taught you, at the very least, that it's a dangerous lifestyle for a young woman! That's something you surely should be aware of."

She jumped to her feet, a sickening wave of giddiness almost overwhelming her, but she stood her ground and faced him off, heedless of the other three who watched in silence.

"So they like to say! Well, I been workin' and livin' this way for ten years and that creep the other night has been the worst of the lot. "

He attempted to retort but she stormed on, something just occurring to her: "And furthermore, why _should_ it be dangerous? Why _should_ I have to be afraid?"

Now he stepped back, visibly shocked. "What do you mean? Of course you should be afraid – you're in a vulnerable position out there, easy prey for the human predators that flood this city! You should be concerned for your own life!"

She shook her head, hissing a scornful laugh through her teeth. "No, baby, no. Sure, I have to be afraid – me and every other woman on this planet – but I _shouldn't_ have to be afraid. That ain't right. Why _should_ my job be viewed as somehow more dangerous than any other? Why _should_ I or anyone else _have_ to be afraid to walk the streets alone – that ain't RIGHT. There shouldn't be an expectation of danger or violence around what I do – around what anyone does! _Maybe_ there is – but there _shouldn't_ be. The problem ain't what I do – the problem is the creeps who choose to violate someone else's freedom – someone else's _rights_ – without consent. The problem is the _laws_ that make me vulnerable because I got no protection. The problem is, that if I end up dead in a gutter somewhere, that the police will tell my parents it was just a 'matter of time' – like it's somehow okay for some types of people to be viewed as easy prey instead of dealing with the fuckers who victimise them. It ain't _right._"

Raphael had sat forward, hands gripping his knees tightly, eyes wide and keen on Amber as she made her impassioned tirade, something almost like a grin ghosting the corners of his mouth. Conversely, Leonardo listened, clenching his fists at first but quickly calming, face quite still. She panted for a moment, then continued. "And what's more, what makes you think I wouldn't keep workin' this way even if I _was_ clean? Can you name another job that will offer a highschool drop out or a migrant mother of five this much freedom and cash? Huh?"

All of a sudden she ran out of energy to continue and quavered on her feet before collapsing back down on the couch. She'd made a similar speech many times over the years and it still staggered her how so many people could have the same stupid misconceptions, the same ignorant prejudices. Then she buried in her face in bony hands and began laughing bitterly. Even a fucking monster from the sewers! Was this really happening? This was too much!

Michelangelo had scooted away from her as she'd carried on but now he shifted over to her again, tentatively touching her arm. "It's cool, Amber." He muttered soothingly and she realised he thought she was crying. She pushed her hair back and sat back up, exhaling in a rush. Her face felt flushed. He offered her a chocolate bar retrieved from the jumble on the floor and she thought she _would_ cry. _Christ he was so fucking kind. How could he be so nice? How could he be so readily easy about it?_

"I see your point, Amber." Leonardo said then, breaking the uneasy silence, turning on his heel to pace in front of the television screens. "And what you decide is ultimately up to you, whether or not I agree with it. Maybe by the time this is over you will feel differently, though." He paused, his back to them, and she stared at the complex patterns ridging his shell, fascinated. "I will hope so and focus my energies towards your healing." She swallowed hard against the nasty retort that sprung to her mouth and forced her gaze downwards, biting her lip. He was just a kid. He was trying to be nice. She heard Raphael make a snort of disgust and flickered her eyes over to him. He was looking at her and as she met his gaze he smiled at her for the first time. She smiled back.

"Amber," Donatello spoke up hesitantly, seeming keen to get the discussion back on track, fidgeting awkwardly with the pad that was tied around his knee. "Perhaps you could give me some information on some of the missing people, so I have a better idea of what I'm looking for."

Something occurred to her just then. She couldn't believe she hadn't thought of it before. She leapt agitatedly to her feet and began pacing up and down, careful not to look at any of them.

"Shit, oh shit! Maria! I just remembered – she's got a kid! Oh shit! What's happened to the kid?"

"Oh dear," Donatello said, brow creasing worriedly. "Hasn't she got any family or someone who could take care of her?"

Amber jerked her head, no. "It was just Maria and the kid. That's it. Oh Christ. She's not even in high school yet – she can't stay there all alone, what if she's hungry, or sick or – " she whirled around, striding up to Leonardo. He was clearly the one in charge. "Look, you better take me up there. I can check on her." She fumbled in the pocket of the hoodie, found a cigarette and lit it, Leonardo's face wrinkling delicately at the noxious smell. "We can't leave her up there alone, and you guys can't expose yourselves. Take me up there – I can check on her and then come back."

Leonardo blinked, regarding her steadily. The others faded away, into the background as he held her gaze, a tiny smile snaking up his mouth. "Where does Maria live?"

She started to speak, then stopped, sliding her eyes over to Raphael who was watching the scene intently, frowning. He knew the address she'd been about to give. Knew it wasn't Maria's. Leonardo blinked. "I think," he said smoothly, "You just want to get more heroin."

Michelangelo gasped audibly and she felt her mouth twisting into a smirk, knowing her face had revealed the truth in his accusation.

"It's not the whole truth," she admitted, "but yeah. Yeah, you're partly right. I can admit it. Can you admit you don't like me just cos I'm a junkie whore?" She felt oddly shamed and wanted to get him back. He remained implacable, however.

"I barely know you, Amber. I neither like nor dislike you." He said calmly, "But no, I don't approve of the damage you do to yourself. I hope in time you will come to agree with me. "

She'd underestimated him. It pissed her off and she wanted to lash out at him, tear at the mask stretched across his strange, smooth green skin, sink her teeth into the muscles on his arms. If she was high, she would've. But she wasn't high. She was a shivering, trembling wreck of the girl she'd been a few days ago and he was as immoveable as a rock. A wave of sickness rushed through her again and she found she couldn't turn to look at the others, to see what expressions they wore, to see how Raphael was reacting.

So instead she turned and moved as quickly as her faltering legs could take her to the bathroom.

**XXIII**

I know Mikey's playin' tag with me. He just can't help himself.

We're movin' above the streets, headed for the warehouse, and my little brother is showin' off, as usual, leaping ahead as fast as he can. And that's damn fast.

I grit my teeth and bow my head, chargin' forward, concentrating all my power in the movement and for a moment I almost catch up with him.

Then he leaps forward again, hooting to the sky, and leaves me in dust.

Ah, who cares anyway. I'm bigger than he is, and stronger. If he wants to keep on playing these kid games, good luck to him.

He's waitin' for me, on the roof opposite the warehouse, grinning like an idiot, crouched down in the shadows. Little twerp hasn't even worked up a sweat. I catch up to him, teeth clenched, staring straight ahead.

Looks the same. The chimney's still spewin' its smoke into the sky, the dark paint on the windows masks any glimmer of light from within, and the video cameras move back and forward silently in the night.

"Whoah. Creepy." Michelangelo remarks. Good old Mikey. Master of the Freakin' Obvious.

I didn't think Leo would trust me to head out again on this without him. Had been expectin' a battle over it, cos I sure wasn't gonna sit on the sidelines.

Almost fell over when he named me and Mikey investigators.

But maybe he just wanted me out of the picture so he could give Amber a hard time. _Alex_.

"Hey Raph?" I can just tell by the inquisitive tone in his voice he's about to ask me somethin' I probably don't wanna answer. So I say nothin'.

Of course, that wouldn't stop Mikey.

"Are you and Amber – uh – well, what's the deal with you guys?"

I gripped the pommel of my _sai_ and stared down at the street below, watching a skinny white cat sidle amongst the trash.

"No deal, Mikey." I tell him shortly. "She's a girl I know."

"Yeah, but _how_ do you know her?" He pushed. "And how _well_, if you get my drift?" I get it Mikey. The hint's so heavy they're gettin' it in Australia.

"Just because she's a – " and weirdly, I hesitate, " – a prostitute, don't mean it's all up for grabs." I grumble to him. It's a word I've thought a lot. In my head, I've gotten used to it. But sayin' it outloud feels funny. Like I've just exposed somethin'. Stripped her bare in front of him. I could feel a hot flush creeping up my neck. "Besides, what makes you think I'd want to even go there?" I snap as an after thought. The cat has jumped onto the neck of a bin, balancing on its hind legs, tail in the air, head thrust deep inside. Besides me Mikey shrugs.

"Hey dude, I'm not judging. I mean, she scares me half to death. Any moment I expect her head to start spinning around on her neck!" I grip the roof ledge and throw him a venomous look. He holds his hands up defensively. "I mean, she's nice enough but sheesh, talk about off the freakin' planet! And I'd be scared I'd snap her in two – and what about that cough? I mean, she seems really sick, Raph." He pauses then chuckles. "But you seem to go for the ones in need."

Slowly, my head swivels around to face him, my vision clear and very, very bright, Mikey bold and huge against the backdrop of buildings, the light of each window a sharp square. I feel absolutely still and Mikey gets suddenly nervous, falling silent.

After a long moment, I look away again.

"Let's hit the roof." I growl to him, and I'm only vaguely aware he's shakin' his head as we both back up a few paces then move forward, soaring through the air. Even like this he lands a fraction of a second before me, skidding forward like he's out of control, not stopping with the suddenness that I do. He needs to work on that and I grin to myself, smug.

We straighten up and survey the rooftop. Nothin's changed since I was last here. Maybe there's a bit more bird shit, but that's hard to say. Like I was, Mikey is interested in the chimney, tips his head backwards to stare up at the end of it, craning his neck.

"Man, that stuff reeks!" he remarks and I hiss at him to be quiet. _Ninja, Mikey, remember?_

I indicate that he's to take the far side and I'll take the other. We'll work our way around and meet back up here.

I've given him the wall I checked the other night. If there's something on the other side, I want to be the first to see it.

So once again I find myself slipping and leaping from window ledge to window ledge, my plastron scratching against the rough cement, knuckles getting scratched up. I go lower tonight, to the last row of windows before the camera starts. Crouching on one ledge, gripping the window frame above me with strained fingers, I can hear the strange electronic whir as one swivels back and forth. Better not fall. I leap forward, make the next window, my back foot slipping off painfully, near dangling in view of the camera's swivelling head. _Shit. _Keep movin'. The next window finally yields somethin', small flakes of paint having scratched off its surface. I squint inside, struggling to make somethin' out.

Oh, there's somethin' all right.

It's a big, plain room, walls and floor made of shining metal. It looks empty for a moment, completely bare, but then I catch sight of something huddled in one corner, gently shaking.

It's a woman.

I can't see her clearly – the room is lit only by a few dull lights planted in the center of the floor – but I can see enough.

She's naked, and, I realise, crying. That's why she's shaking. She's as far up against the wall as can be, and keeps trying to slide up it, lifting her feet to place them against the wall, only for them to slip back down and hit the floor again.

It's an awful sight. She's not bein' beaten, or raped, or tortured. But that strange, crouched, slidin' position speaks loud and clear of total degradation.

Fury and disgust constrict my throat, cutting off my air supply. I feel my pulse speed up, the blood poundin' in my head, my grip on the wall tightening so much my knuckles ache.

I push up clambering back up the roof and for once I think I could beat Mikey. I burst over the top of the roof, panting. Mikey's there, waitin' for me and his welcomin' grin fades when he sees my face. I move for the back end, where the building ends and its loading area begins, the space surrounded by that high cement wall. Fuck Leo and fuck waitin'. These bastards are about to become shish-ka-creeps and me the grand skewer.

"Raph, wait!" Mikey hisses urgently, leaping up to stop me, but I'm heedless, moving forward, stepping up onto the roof, ready to leap down and start brawlin'. But it's Mikey and he catches up, wrapping both arms around me and heavin' back with all his might so I lose my balance and we stumble backwards together.

I snarl and throw him off and he struggles to keep on his feet.

"Raph, calm down, dude!" He hissed. "They got cameras everywhere down there." I didn't care. In fact, I wanted the creeps inside to see and know what was comin' for 'em. "How about we try the door?"

Slowly, the pounding in my head subsided, leaving just the familiar dull ache I always felt after an explosion. The door might be a better option. Nevermind Leo, Splinter would hang me up by my shell if we got caught on camera. I gave Mikey a curt nod and he grinned again, ducking over to the great steel door that led into the building from the rooftop. I followed, _sai_ unsheathed, ready for anything.

Except I'd forgotten the door was alarmed. Mikey barely touched it and a shrieking wail tore through the night, the red light flashing rapidly. Mikey puts his hands up to cover his ear passages. "Ugh!" he cried as my shoulders jerked violently upwards and I crouched down, grimacing at the awful sound. "We better haul shell, bro!" Mikey said and moved to the edge of the roof, me only an inch behind him. Just as we leapt we heard the door behind us being unlatched and a shout as we were spotted. Mikey tucked and somersaulted the rest of the way and I twisted midair, bringing my legs up to my upper plastron as a hail of bullets ripped the air around us. I landed on my shell, spinning around and onto my feet, bent at the waist and moved, checking that Mikey was with me. He was similarily hunched and together we jumped down the other side of the roof, hitting street level in a cloud of dust and garbage, not daring to stop but lurching forward, skidding around a corner and straight for the first manhole cover we spotted. I held it up for my little brother and pushed him in, glancing behind me briefly. Shouts, in the distance, but no one nearby. I scowled, furious at being blocked like that, then leapt in after Mikey, letting the manhole cover drop back into place with a dull _clunk_.


	11. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER TEN**

**XXIV**

It was early morning when Splinter summoned them into his chambers. Amber was asleep on one of the sofas, a twitchy, restless sleep in which she broke into frequent sweats and groans. But it would seem the valium would keep her effectively unconscious for a while as her body continued to dump the last remnants of the drug.

Splinter's face was composed and serene as the four brothers knelt before their sensei. Of all of them, he seemed to be the one who least noted the disruption they'd been obliged to tolerate over the last few days. Only the fact he had remained so much to himself and his chambers indicated that he was at all ruffled. His sons had respected this obvious desire for privacy and not imposed while he in turn had trusted them to deal with the matter that now faced them all.

He waited silently while they filed in and assumed their positions in front of him. Then, without opening his eyes, he requested an update.

Leonardo obliged, filling the old rat in on what Donatello had uncovered in the corporation's computer files and Michelangelo and Raphael's experiences of the evening before. Splinter listened, without interruption, and when Leonardo drew to a close, he opened his eyes and lifted them to his oldest son's.

"Very good, my son, thank you. But, you have omitted something."

Leonardo felt confused, confronted as he always was when it seemed he had not performed precisely as was expected. "_Sensei,_ forgive me, but I do not think so."

Splinter allowed the merest flicker of an eyebrow. "No? My afternoon's meditation was disturbed yesterday by a conflict of sorts between you and our guest."

_Oh, that._ Leonardo bowed his head in acknowledgment. "Please forgive us for the disruption, _Sensei_. I will ensure that it does not happen again."

Inwardly, he swallowed his irritation with Amber and her complacent defence of her own self-destructive behaviour. He couldn't _stand_ to see people squander the gifts they were given, the blessed opportunities and privileges of life…

"You forget, Leonardo," Splinter broke his train of thought. "I have lived with four teenaged boys for the last five years. And Michelangelo for the last seventeen." Michelangelo could not help grinning; any special mention of his name was worth celebrating. "A reoccurrence does not so much concern me as does the cause for it. Would you care to explain, my son?"

Splinter's voice was gentle, but probing, and Leonardo set his jaw. He could feel Raphael tense beside him and wished his bad-tempered brother were not present. He would take the girl's side of course, out of nothing more than contrariness…

Taking a deep breath, he began to reply: "Amber and I were having an ethical disagreement. I was trying to encourage her to turn her thoughts to cleansing her body and spirit and she did not see the same necessity for it. She stubbornly clings to the harmful way of life she has adopted. I wish only, as I do for all those who have gone down such a destructive path, that she will take the steps needed to heal herself."

He finished, believing he had adequately explained himself. Splinter said nothing and the silence in the candle-lit chamber swelled. He knew Raphael was clenching his fists, that Donatello and Michelangelo were trying not to glance at each other, wondering what was going on. Leonardo wanted to raise his eyes to his master, to see what expression Splinter held, but kept them respectfully trained downwards, his knees and upper thighs against the pale gold of the straw matting in front of Splinter's low wood table. The silence grew such that a dull hum rose in his ears – the combined sound of electricity, far off beat of traffic and buzz of people that was always the unnoticed undercurrent of city life.

"I just don't understand," he burst out finally, experiencing an immediate relief. "Why someone would do that to themselves. How someone could know better and still do that. I mean, she's not stupid. And she's been given an opportunity here! How can she be so disregardful of her own life – of her family? How can she want to continue crawling in the gutter when she's been offered a step out of it?" He felt infuriated by it suddenly. How worried and upset her family must be, wherever they were – could they even live a normal life wondering what their daughter was doing, if she was even still alive? And herself – her own young, strong body, distorted and damaged by a lifetime of abuse. And them, taking her in at risk to themselves and all she could think about was getting out to stick a needle in her arm! "I don't agree with what she does, either," he continued in a rush, feeling himself become increasingly unburdened as he spoke. "Exploiting herself. It's degrading."

Raphael could help himself no more. "She doesn't find it degrading!" he growled and Leonardo sat bolt upright, near shouting:

"Open your eyes, Raphael! Look at her! "

The two brothers faced each other off, the form of their assembly broken as they sat up on their knees, fists clenched and scowling at the other. Words and comments leapt to Raphael's mind as he thought over the various discussions he and Amber had had on this subject in the past, her aggravation and irritation. _"I'd be a wreck no matter what I was doing."_ She'd snapped once. _"The drug makes me look this way, not the work."_

"You're – " he struggled to remember the word she'd used. "You're pathaloging her!"

"Pathologising." Donatello murmured and Raphael snarled at him:

"Yeah, that, whatever! Whatever it is, he's doing it" and jammed a finger in Leonardo's direction.

Leonardo jerked at the gesture and spat back: "If you actually did care ab – "

"Silence." Splinter's voice snapped the argument abruptly, silencing both sides.

Leonardo obeyed with a supreme force of will, panting and clenching his teeth. Raphael, as usual, could not.

"But _Sensei_," He began, but Splinter slapped his walking stick down hard across the table.

"I said, silence!" And Raphael obeyed. Splinter rarely raised his voice and it always startled them when he did.

Slowly sinking back on his haunches, he could not resist a venomous look at Leonardo, who did not turn to him, but scowled fiercely at the matting, fists clenched tight on his thighs.

"I will not have such a lack of discipline during a formal assembly," he chided them. "Leonardo, do not make me question my decision to allow you to pursue further training beyond the city." Leonardo's heart clenched at that and he straightened his spine, breathing out slow and deep, regaining mastery of his emotions. "And Raphael – it would be you who I would place in charge during Leonardo's absence, if only you could control this temper of yours." Being reminded of this bitter blow did nothing to dampen Raphael's fire; indeed it only ignited it further though he concentrated all his effort to remaining silent, glowering at the walking stick where it lay upon the table. "Enough, my sons."

Not even Michelangelo had a remark to make and in the silence that followed, Splinter let out a great breath, shut his eyes for a moment, and then addressed them all.

"I have raised you all to value honour, integrity and respect above all things, respect for your selves and respect for those around you. I have done what I can to instill within you a sense of pride and self-value, to cherish and nourish the bodies you have been given and the spirits you possess. It is only natural that you would be disturbed to witness behaviour that, in your perception, goes against these values."

Vindicated, Leonardo felt his pulse sink, his brow cool. But Splinter had not finished.

"However," and his voice was stern now. "You cannot get through to another soul through condemnation. Others hold values that are different to your own and they shall pursue them as they see fit. If you wish to persuade others of your perspective, tactics of condescension, such as you used yesterday Leonardo, will be useless. A soul, whether damaged or whole, if it perceives it is not respected or not valued as it is, will only turn away with greater resistance. Particularly if you do not demonstrate understanding or acknowledgement of the reasoning and motivation behind the choices made. If you disregard another's values in a bid to remind them they are not alone, you will only isolate them further. " Leonardo burned with shamed at the public reprimand and he cautioned himself to continue listening with humility, difficult though it was. "Just because you may perceive a particular path as a wasted life, does not mean that another will feel in kind. Just because you might not agree with another's choices, does not make yours the more right. And even if you have an ethical reason for opposing someone's choices, that does not necessarily make them a wicked person." Here, Splinter's eyes flickered briefly to Raphael, who had cooled off considerably, face twisted in confliction. "Compassion, empathy and acceptance are difficult skills to master in the face of that which we would ordinarily disdain. But master them we must, or forever will our prejudice stand as impediment to a soul that is truly at one." He shut his eyes again and sighed, shoulders loosening from their tensed position.

"I will confess, it is not a choice I would like to see any of you, my sons, make. But were it ever the case, I would not think less of you. And I would not stop loving you."

Leonardo was struggling hard against the wave of embarrassment and confusion overwhelming him. He had not expected Splinter to say such things; indeed he had assumed Splinter would agree with his own perspective on the situation. But now that he had said the words, Leonardo saw his meaning and understood it. Never, ever could he agree with those who lived their lives addicted to drugs or alcohol, who prostituted their bodies or sold addictive substances, or stole to fund their habits. But, with new ears, Leonardo heard the words he had spoken to Amber the day previous echo, and realised how they must've sounded, to her and to his brothers. _I was worried for them,_ he thought desperately, hoping that Splinter realised this. _I was worried they could be influenced – _

It struck him then, like a jab to the throat. Such a paternalistic stance regarding his brothers was equally disrespectful, to their intelligence and autonomy. _Splinter was not speaking only of Amber…_

Raphael, meanwhile, was feeling entirely deflated. He'd heard what Splinter had said before – from Amber's own mouth, though perhaps with less grace and more cussing. He, too, had expected condemnation and disapproval from his _Sensei_. And though Raphael's perspective on the situation had changed a great deal in the months he'd known Amber and been watching the folks of the street, ultimately he agreed with Leonardo more than he cared to admit and hearing what Splinter had to say made him uncomfortably aware of this.

The two elder brothers remained silent, each contemplating his own inner dialogue and Michelangelo felt it was high time someone broke the tension.

"Not to worry, _Sensei_!" He spoke up cheerfully. "Until they find a way to produce pure adrenaline in injectable form, you won't find me hopping on the intravenous railroad!"

"It already exists, doofus!" Donatello seemed relieved to lighten the discussion.

Splinter suppressed a smile; secretly glad for the rambunctious turtle's levity. He knew his message was being absorbed and did not object.

"There won't be any self-testing done here, Master." Donatello continued, dryly. "If I need an experimentation subject, I'll just use Mikey."

"Hey!"

Splinter looked down at his paws, silently chuckling. Leonardo and Raphael remained silent. He cleared his throat.

"Well, my sons. I wish to train before my stories come on. You are dismissed."

**XXV**

Finally, Michelangelo knew what to do.

They were all uncomfortable with her for one reason or another. Leonardo objected to everything she represented. He figured Donatello just couldn't figure out how to talk to a girl who didn't speak geek. Raphael was just a moody bitch and there was tension between them that he, Michelangelo, was not even going to _try_ and understand.

Mikey, himself, couldn't stand how sick she seemed, with the thinness, and the coughing, and the mutilated arms, and the sallow face, and the shaking and the weakness. Maybe he had showed off a little, doing those one-armed, one-legged push-ups for her, maybe it was kinda cool to see how impressed she was, but it was kinda unsettling she seemed to get out of breath just walking across the room.

But now, now, Mikey had a handle on things. Now he could be useful.

He hummed cheerfully to himself, whisking the eggs briskly, adding a pinch of salt and some chopped parsley, then a few big spoonfuls of cream – couldn't hurt! Then it was over to the hot pan, slowly pouring the mixture in.

Half the stuff he cooked for her she was throwing back up, but the other half was staying down and he thought she'd even got a bit of colour in her cheeks.

Cream, eggs and cheese went into almost everything and he was dishing out the pasta as much as possible. The heavy food was too much for her shrunken stomach and he had learned quickly to give her only a fraction of what he considered a normal serving. Then a fraction of what Leo considered a normal serving. He helped her finish the rest to encourage her. He didn't mind! It was companionable.

He felt much more at ease with the whole situation now he had figured out how to handle it. Man, Raphael picked up some strays! He seemed to have a singular talent for it, in much the same way that Michelangelo had a singular talent for being an excellent host – especially when his bros did not step up to the plate!

The eggs were scrambled, the toast was buttered, the vegetables were grilled and the brows were hashed… Michelangelo added some crispy bacon to his own plate, put the strong black coffee and the tall frosty glasses of OJ on a tray with the food and moved out into the den.

"Soups up, Red, come and get it before somebody else does – like me!"

Amber blinked bleary eyes and slowly disentangled herself from the rugs where she was intertwined, pushing herself upwards onto one elbow. Her head was heavy and pounding but she felt markedly better than she had two days ago, if weak and exhausted still.

She watched as Michelangelo laid out the food on the coffee table, pushing it over so it was barely a hand's reach away from her.

"Now," he began perkily, "As we sit down to enjoy this wonderful feast, created and dished up by yours truly, let us bear in mind those ancient words of wisdom on gastric indulgence – two, four, six, eight, dig in, don't wait!"

She couldn't help but laugh, just a little. The lame jokes were endless but she rather felt it was often deliberate on his part – that he enjoyed the groans of dismay as much as the appreciative giggles. She turned her eyes to the food.

It smelt good – it looked good – but she just wasn't sure she could summon the energy to try and eat it. Her jaws started to hurt after a few mouthfuls of chewing and afterwards the food would sit in her gut in a hard lump. Still, there was some sensory pleasure to be gained from eating again, in the tastes and textures. And he'd gone to the effort…

With a shaking hand she leaned out and forked up a mouthful of egg. Egg was soft. Michelangelo was cheerfully chowing down, making self-approving noises.

Of all of them, he had been the most friendly, even valiantly overcoming his own revulsion at her appearance to keep her company almost constantly throughout the day. She was aware of it, of course – he was completely transparent. The reserved one – Donatello – came over regularly to check how she was doing and remind Michelangelo to keep her hydrated – which meant _water_, not soda as he kept saying - but apart from a nervous smile and the provision of valium had had little direct contact with her. Leonardo and Raphael were the most absent. Well, she couldn't blame them. But she did wonder about Raphael…

More and more she was becoming aware of just how much she unsettled them, and she was well aware of the reason too.

They weren't just male turtles.

They were teenagers. Young men.

Amber understood men very well. She had spent the last ten years interpreting and understanding the needs and thoughts of men.

She understood the shift in energy when they were near her, the slight adjustment of body language, the new tenseness, the flickering in the eyes. It wasn't that they found her attractive or desirable. It was that her profession constantly hovered in the air about her – it was unavoidable. By virtue of her work she was marked out as an inarguably sexual creature – she's experienced it before, amongst other people. It meant there was one thing that always leapt to mind when people looked at her, and these creatures were no different.

Michelangelo had spent hours describing some of the unreal experiences they'd had – things she couldn't even comprehend and would not ever have believed before having been confronted with the reality of giant turtles living in the sewers.

So she'd returned the favour and told him about some of her experiences on the streets and in her work. He'd listened with as rapt attention as she'd given him – more, even. It would seem that even battling aliens and being blasted through time and space was not as enthralling as the concept of fucking people for money.

He'd finished his breakfast and was now rummaging through his DVD collection, searching for something that required "absolutely no brain activity to watch" and then shrieked with triumph, holding a box aloft with a triumphant grin.

"I think we have a winner!"

She leaned forward from the sofa, squinting. "_DOA: Dead or Alive_" it read and suddenly she was grinning back, squirming about.

"I love that movie!" Weird… this burst of excitement in her chest. Michelangelo was staring at her in delighted disbelief, bringing his fists down by his side in a 'yes!' gesture.

"Are you serious? Wow, you are way cooler than I first thought!"

She laughed, a big laugh then, feeling it vibrate against her breast bone. His enthusiasm was catching as he fumbled with the DVD player, jamming the disc in and jumping up to hop about.

"What's your favourite part?" he squealed and she beamed up at him, constantly amazed by his never-ending excitement.

"How to choose amongst so many classic moments of unashamed trash?" She tried to be wry, but felt enthusiasm uncomfortably mounting.

Michelangelo's eyes were shining now as he looked at her and her stomach heaved, remembering the flat she'd shared when she first moved here, friends, late nights smoking pot and watching trashy movies, laughter and play wrestling, the freedom of being unashamedly dorky with people who knew you…

"Ok dude," Michelangelo had his hands up, trying to keep his excitement in check. "This movie needs to be viewed with the proper respect, so we need suitable sustenance and to have the right environment for maximum enjoyment – I know, let's build a fort!" he leapt upon the other sofa and started tearing the cushions from it while she chuckled, fighting against the urge to leap up.

"I'm too old for a fort." She protested, and he turned and looked at her incredulously.

"You're never too old for a fort."

Something clicked inside her, like a lock unfastened, a sudden rush of giddiness as though a door had been opened and she pulled herself to her feet, knees shaking, and moved to help him.

He did the bulk of it – the sofa cushions were heavy and as she struggled with one he grasped the other end and lifted it, and she gasped to feel through the thick wadding of the fibres the obvious tremor of strength, appropriately restrained to the task, but _there_, always there.

Moving in beside him, comfortably and warmly wrapped up in rugs, supported all around by cushions, she dared a glance at him as Devon Aoiki flew across the screen. Hs attention was only for the film, seemingly unaware of her scrutiny. Eyes wide, mouth slightly ajar, shoulders sloping down, hands cupped and relaxed in his lap. She could not quite believe the perfect realism of his expression, how alive and vibrant it was. Up close like this she could see the little – freckles? – that spotted his cheeks and unaware, her hand crept up to her own face, playing across the freckles there. His eyes were a vivid, bright blue, wide and playful, sparkling with mischief and fun. Intelligence too, sharp and quick. She could scarcely believe it. Superficially, they all seemed the same, but a closer examination revealed many differences, making each one unique to the other. Even their voices were distinct, as were their heads and faces. Their bodies too – Michelangelo here had the same cut muscle definition as his brothers, but with less bulk, limbs more gangly. He carried more weight across his middle than they did. Raphael was broader, bigger all over and Leonardo was long and lean. Donatello was softest, strong but smaller. Michelangelo whooped at something on screen and nudged her and she dropped her gaze. Even their personalities were different – and so complex, so nuanced, from the way they approached things to how they interacted with each other. They were just like real people.

At that thought Amber burned inside, flushing hot with shame.

Sugar had been a spoiled and sheltered girl from the South, studying at NYU and working so she could be a fulltime student and maintain a certain lifestyle. She'd tooled around with them for a while, and they all thought she was nice enough, at least until the night they'd been having a booze-induced pseudo-philosophical debate up the back of the Red Eye Diner and Sugar had gaped at Georgie, open-mouthed and impressed and remarked:

"Say, you're real smart for a black!"

It had left a sour feeling in her stomach, a bitter knot that twisted and untwisted inside her, more fuel for the resentment that always simmered within her. Now, she imagined herself saying those words to Raphael:

"Say, you're real smart for a monster!"

It was the same thing, wasn't it?

She was a hypocrite after all, just like everyone else

They were thinking, feeling beings. She'd already seen ample testament of that. They weren't the mindless dull beasts operating on nothing more than instinct that one envisioned when one thought of monsters or bizarre creatures. They were capable of deconstructive planning, calculation, reflection, criticism and introspection. Capable of emotions – compassion, worry, anger, love.

They were not simply giant turtles. Everything around her stood as evidence to that - this place that they occupied and had created for themselves. It wasn't just an animal's borough. It was a home.

**XXVI**

A rap on the door frame. I was in my hammock, snoozing fitfully, and couldn't see who it was.

"What?" I grumbled and heard them step over the threshold.

"Just me." Amber. I sat up straight, gut twisting uncomfortably, reaching frantically for my mask. Stupid, huh. How one thin strip of material can feel like a suit of armour.

"Wait," she said. I still hadn't looked at her, but paused as my hands fumbled to tie the knot at the back of my head. "Leave it off a moment, would you?"

I wouldn't. I snorted and kept on tying it, eyes fixed on the cement bricks of the wall and the tattered edges of an old Nine Inch Nails poster. Just as I finished tying off the mask and straightened it up so it sat right across my eyes, something grazed my shell, soft and feather-light.

I whirled around, the hammock swaying violently as I faced her, her fingertips outstretched, her face still and awed.

"You can feel that?" she whispered. I couldn't believe it. So I scowled, and hopped down to the ground, brushing past her.

"Well I don't hang it up when I go to bed at night." I sounded spiteful and she almost flinched. Almost.

"Of course. Sorry." She offered and I shrugged and flipped a CD into the stereo, keeping my back to her.

"What do you want?" I couldn't keep the brusque tone from my voice but she took it in stride, ambling over to me.

"Just to talk. You know. Like old times. " She half-laughed, leaned up against the wall, tried to make me look at her. I wouldn't. Mikey had given her some of his clothes and she looked ridiculous.

"Sure." I was mumbling now as I hit play and Rob Zombie leapt out of the speakers, skidding on the air.

But she didn't say anything, just continued to watch me with her head tipped back against the wall and eyes half-open. I turned, went and sat down on the cushions beneath my hammock and she followed, folding her legs inwards to take the spot beside me.

She'd showered. I could smell the conditioner, fresh and fruity, filling the space between us. I stole a look at her. Her face looked fuller somehow, her lips were no longer chapped now she was out of the cold, eyes no longer so sunken, her hair was damp and curled around her cheek. She watched me look at her and smiled.

Then, in a gesture so bold I couldn't believe it, she reached over and picked up my hand.

I wanted to snatch it away, but didn't. She turned it over and over in her hands, running her fingertips across my skin and nails, squeezing it between her own. Examining me. I felt my skin crawl.

"I'm sorry," she said again. "I know what this must feel like. I just had to." She turned her eyes up at me, skin mottled and dark around them, her gaze pleading for understanding.

I still couldn't say anythin'. She finished with my hand, then ran her palms up my forearm, over my elbow then my bicep. I couldn't look at her now. A great uncomfortable pressure was building up in my gut. I wanted more than ever to move and more than ever not to.

"Your bodies are amazing." She said then, and I cringed. "You're like… extreme athletes. Or something."

I managed to shrug, flickered my eyes across the magazines strewn across the floor. Managed to speak. "Ninja training." Tried to make it sound flippant.

"So," she let go of my arm, nudged me gently. "You're a stranger even on your own turf?"

Then I even managed a little smile. "Well, you know," I leaned back on my hands, "You weren't exactly in a sociable mood for a while there."

"Fair 'nuff." She conceded, "How have you been?"

I always get this feelin' when I'm in April's shop. Like I'm a cat negotiating a rat maze. If I so much as breathe out somethin's gonna break. I got that feeling now. Just damned awkward.

"You know," Mikey would be killin' himself laughing if he were here to see this! "Pretty good. Mikey been lookin' after you?"

She tittered. "Yeah. He really has. I'm not sure if I'm still throwin' up cos of the junk or if my body just can't handle all this food. And we watched _DOA. _And made a fort." She added the last part sheepishly and I raised an eye ridge at her.

"_DOA_? You're into that crud?"

"That's exactly why I'm into it." She laughed. This was creepy. Amber was acting kinda like a normal person.

"Great, another Mikey." I grumbled and she shrugged, threw her hands up in the air as if to say _what can I do about it, baby?_

"I love Jaime Pressley," she continued, cocking her head to the ceiling, crossing her arms over her knees. "She's so perfect."

I boggled. "I didn't even think you'd know who she was!"

"I'm not that out of touch," she elbowed me playfully but there was a tinge of defensiveness in her voice. "I used to watch TV, and go to the movies, and surf the internet, you know."

"Really? I thought you just sprang up fully formed out of some hooker's discarded stiletto heels in an alley one night."

"Fuck you." We were both laughing now and man, it felt good.

"Are you pissed at me?" I asked when we quieted and she nodded.

"Yep. I am. But I'll forgive you. After all, I won't be here forever."

"Hmm." I stretched my legs out in front of me, flexing my feet and feeling the tightness in my calves. "Look, I'm not trying to tell you what to do or anythin', but you know. Maybe this is a good chance for you. To kick the habit."

I was ready if she got mad. Hell, I was always ready for a fight. But she didn't. Just reached into the pocket of Mikey's hoodie and got herself a cigarette, wry grin splitting her face.

"It probably is a good chance for me." She acknowledged, but noncommittally. Somethin' Leo had said earlier was playin' through my head and since she seemed in such a stable mood I figured why not.

"Do you ever find what you do – uh – degrading." I got that awful elephant-in-a-china-shop feelin' again. She swivelled her head slowly to look at me, a strange little smile on her mouth.

"No." She didn't have to say anymore. The absolute certainty in her voice said it all.

"All you do is work, Amber, and get high and skulk around reading. And talk to creepy mutant turtles in dark alleyways." She snorted, elbowed me again. "Don't you ever think like maybe - ah geez, I dunno. Do you ever miss – I don't know what I'm tryin' to say, damn it." I felt like a bunch of bugs had got under my skin and were crawling around, eating holes through my thoughts. Why did this shit have to be so freakin' _hard_?

She drew back hard on the cigarette, getting clean through a good half of it in the one pull. She held the smoke in her throat for a long moment, then exhaled slowly, shutting her eyes.

"I used to play the piano." She told me. "And when I tell you I used to play the piano, I mean every day since I was four years old. One hour in the morning before school, two hours after school, five hours on Saturday, two on Sunday. I was good. Man, was I good. My parents, my teachers, they looked at me and saw Carnegie Hall. I don't know about that – I was really good, but I was no prodigy. Got there through hard work, lots of hard work. I haven't touched a piano in six years but every piece of music I used to play is still there, burned into my memory. Shit, you know, not even my memory. Into my fingertips. I close my eyes and can see my fingers moving over the keyboard. I hear a piece of music and I can envision the exact keys to press to recreate it, the notes and all. Thing is," she opened her eyes, drew and exhaled again. "It's… it's funny. It's like it all happened to someone else. I mean, I know it happened to me, but it feels so distant and far away, like a hundred years ago. Or like I'm some imposter, like my soul has been fixed into the body of this good little girl who played the piano and had a cat and lived in a two storey house in suburbia with a pink canopy above her bed and somehow I've got her memories." Her eyes were red, bloodshot from the smoke, and she blinked them rapidly. "I don't remember what it's like to – to want things. To have desires. I don't even feel sorry about it because I just have an absence of feeling for it all. It doesn't seem to matter. Nothing seems to matter. Except smack. " She threw the butt of her cigarette on the cement of my bedroom floor, ground it out with her bare foot. I jerked and she shook her head dismissively. "There's a scar, no feelin' there," she explained and I felt a tightening across my plastron. She stretched her legs out in front of her, lining them up with mine and I looked at them, at her small but swollen white feet with their scars and track marks next to mine, green and oversized, only three big toes. She moved one foot onto mine, ran the sole of it over my toes. Her foot felt scratchy and rough, and oddly soothing. "Sex is the same." She continued easily. "It just doesn't mean anything. I used to have boyfriends, a girlfriend or two. I started doin' smack with a boyfriend. Like a bonding experience." She snorted. "I used to enjoy sex. But now I just don't care. Don't get me wrong, you know it's not like I'm dead – or that it's this horrible traumatic thing or that I can't feel because my soul has been so degraded by prostitution I've shut it off from my body," she said this last statement with mocking sarcasm. "It just… doesn't mean anything to me anymore. People have all these big, romantic fantasies about sex, or these crazy, wild taboos, and it's just like… I mean what is it? It's just an act. Like pissing or coughing or ordering fries with your fuckin' burger. "

"Amber." I couldn't stay silent anymore. The lump in my throat wouldn't stay down. "I think that's fuckin' awful."

She shrugged, pulled her legs up to her chest again. "Yeah. I know it seems that way. " Suddenly her arm was around my shoulder and she was leanin' against me. Panic flooded through me, white sparks that flashed across my gaze. "But I do got some other pleasures, besides the junk, in my life. You're one of them."

With an effort so hard it hurt, I swallowed. Forced my tone to be light. "The junk musta really warped ya. Your idea of a good time is hangin' out with some creepy freak of nature?"

"Oh Raphael," She sounded almost sorrowful, sat up on her knees, shifted in front of me and took my face between her hands. She'd never been so close before. Not like this. Not a few inches from my face, so near I could see every popped blood vessel in her eyes, smell the popcorn on her breath, where a cluster of freckles on her left cheek were joined together. I wanted to breathe out, but couldn't. I wanted to push her off, but didn't. "How can you not see it? You're a fuckin' miracle of nature."

**XVII**

Leonardo called a meeting that Donatello recommended Amber not be present for. The four brothers gathered in the dojo, sitting in a tight circle in the middle of the floor. Donatello's face was grave and still and the three others regarded him curiously, made anxious by his obvious tenseness.

"I don't think it's going to come as any great shock to anyone that there's no Professor Philip Andrews at NYU, or any other university in the country." Donatello began. "There _was _a Professor Philip Andrews at Wesleyan, but he died in 1996. University of California also had a _Doctor_ Philip Andrews, but uh, he became Doctor _Phillipa_ Andrews last year. "

Michelangelo couldn't help tittering and Leonardo shot him a cautionary glare.

"I finally realised why I couldn't find anything on the missing people in BioGen-DRT - spelled D-R-T but pronounced _Dart – _Corp's files. " Donatello continued solemnly, and they all waited. "I was looking for names. Not necessarily any of the names Amber gave me, as I think most of those are fake, but just regular human names, or even partial names."

"Did you find any?" Leonardo queried and Donatello shook his head.

"Nope. Nada. Not as file names and not in the content of any files. In fact I stumbled upon them purely by chance, clicked on one accidentally – the files are all named numerically. And so are the "subjects" of the files, which refers to different types of testing and analysis." He waited a moment for this to sink in. Michelangelo looked a little confused and raised a hand.

"Uhh… I don't get the significance, Donnie."

Donatello frowned at his brother. "This is a corporation with high security, covert operation and an interest in bio-genetic material, Michelangelo. And the subjects of their testing are nothing more than numbers to them."

"Ohhhh," Michelangelo was washed with understanding, distress creasing his brow. Leonardo's eyes narrowed, spine tensing so that he sat up straight with his head bowed against his chest, Raphael's hands leapt automatically for his _sai_, and he grappled with the urge to hurtle out of the den and straight for the warehouse. Donatello looked from brother to brother, sombre and worried.

"The further I dig the more disturbed I get." He finished and Leonardo nodded and set his jaw.

"We need a plan."


	12. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

**XXIII**

Amber shook her head, incredulous, leaned defensively against a pillar. "You guys have the wrong idea about me. When I said I wanted something done, I didn't mean for me to get involved. I'm no hero, sweethearts. My life might seem crummy to you, but I kinda like it."

"We need a decoy," Leonardo continued to explain, leaning forward and folding his arms over his knees, gazing intently at her. "Someone to distract them while Donnie hacks into their system and disables the security so we can break in. It is a risk," he conceded, "But you'll have a tracker on and we will come and get you first. We would not even consider asking you to do this if we didn't think we could ultimately protect you."

"Don't you want to find out what happened to your friend?" Michelangelo entreated her, brow furrowing. She chuckled, scuffed her feet and looked down at the ground.

"Yes. Yes of course. But you know, you guys should handle this. I just – I just don't want to get involved. I keep my head down, you know? "

Raphael was watching her carefully. He didn't like the idea either, but it would definitely call the least attention to them. His jaw shifted as he watched Amber fold her arms, stare fixedly downwards, the resolutely selfish junkie. _She's scared,_ he realised, _she's terrified. So much for nothin' matterin'._

He stood up.

"Amber, " he said, quietly and she jerked her head up, gazed at him. "I been watchin' over you close to a year now and ain't nothin' happened to you on my watch – and I'm damned if anythin' will. I swear to you, nothin' will happen to you whilst I'm there to make sure it don't. "

There was silence as Amber stared back at him, lips parted slightly. He held her gaze, breathed out steadily. After a long moment, she blinked and looked back down to the ground, shrugging her shoulders wearily.

"All right." She said. "All right."

**XXIV**

It was dusk when Amber walked across the dusty street toward the warehouse. She hadn't been outside in a week and she felt jittery, wanted to break into a run, kick the loose gravel, chase the rubbish that was tossed up by the wind. Wanted to head straight for Eva's and shoot up, forget this whole mess. But the turtles were lurking about, watching her, make sure everything was going to plan, getting into position. Why was she doing this? What had she agreed to? She was suddenly angry at Maria, it burbling like acid in her throat. _Stupid fucking bitch, what had she got herself into._

Shivering, hands in pockets and head bowed, she walked up to the front doors and hit the intercom. She was aware of the camera trained silently and coldly down at her and did not look up at it. The intercom crackled:

"Who is it?"

"I'm here about the interview. Professor Andrews told me about it." She called out and there was a pause, a click and then the front door buzzed.

The door was heavy and she struggled with it, throwing her entire body weight against it to get it open. It yielded and she pushed inside, blinking at the unexpected sight.

A gleaming white reception area, harshly lit with fluorescent lights, greeted her. Everything was new and expensive-looking, even the potted plants that dotted the wall. A well-dressed woman with glasses and her hair smoothed back into a tight bun was walking from around the reception desk, smiling at her with a clipboard in hand.

"Hello and welcome to the office. Did you have any trouble finding the place?" Before Amber could reply, the woman continued: "Just follow me and we'll get you sorted out. This shouldn't take very long, I'll let Dr Andrews know right away, what was your name? You caught us just as were shutting so you're very lucky. The interview is paid in cash, Dr Andrews will sort that out with you and don't worry, no need for a receipt or anything like that. Step into this room, please, and won't you fill out this form?" As she spoke, the woman led Amber through a red door fixed into a corner of the room, down a white corridor, narrow and low-lit, and into a tiny room, furnished only with a table and a couple of chairs. _Like an interrogation room_, Amber though. Her stomach was tying itself in knots. She took the clipboard the woman proferred and mumbled her thanks, dragging out a chair and sitting in it. The woman continued to stand there, smiling at her and Amber gave her a puzzled look.

"Your name?" The woman repeated patiently and Amber couldn't stop a little tug curling her lip. Not that she'd been given a chance to say it!

"Amber." She said and the woman nodded, and exited the room, snapping the door shut behind her.

Amber turned to the form, turning the pen she'd been given over through her fingers. The questions were slightly perturbing.

_Name of spouse/defacto/partner; Address of spouse/defacto/partner; Name and address of closest living relative; Are you currently employed; Employer name and address; _

She frowned, slumped down further in her seat. She sure as hell wasn't answering this. She tossed the pen across the room to further underscore her defiance. Better to be aggressive than accede to the growing nervousness twisting her gut.

The door clicked open and she jerked her head up. Professor Andrews, tall, thin and smiling.

Smiling unpleasantly.

Amber's blood ran cold.

"Ah – it is you." He continued to smile, walking into the room with his hands clasped behind his back. "I thought the name sounded familiar."

She shrugged, flicked her eyes down to the table. "I'm here for that extra five hundred you promised me." She said roughly, unable to stop her fingertip tapping frantically against the tabletop, pounding out a staccato beat that matched her heart.

"Of course you are," he made no effort to mask the raw disdain in his voice, and began to slowly circle the room, moving around the table opposite her, then towards her. "Your kind can never knock back the offer of money, can you? So very predictable – and so very easy."

She snorted, pushed the chair out, lifted her legs onto the table. Fuck him. "Hey, if you're just gonna rag on me, buster, I can easily leave."

He stopped, hands still behind his back, sneering down at her. "Is that so?"

There was another click from the door. She turned around, felt her heart clench as it opened to admit the mug who'd tried to knock her out, his face twisted into an expression between a leer and a scowl.

She jerked backwards, leapt up from her seat and edged back against the wall, crouching into a defensive posture and darting wary looks from him to the professor. _Oh shit. This was going very wrong, Very, very wrong. _She realised the faint rasping whine she heard was coming from own throat as her pulse continued to escalate. The professor's smile was replaced by an expression of intense concentration as he revealed the shining syringe he had been holding behind his back and advanced on her.

**XXV**

"Ok guys," Donatello's voice was loud in my ear, as though my little bro was standing right next to me. "Systems down. There's a straight passage in through the ventilation duct on the east side."

Good ol' Donnie. Could always be counted on. I couldn't even begin to imagine how he'd done it – got the building plans, stormed their system and disabled it, but somehow, he did it.

Leo gestured to us silently and we followed, moving noiselessly down onto the street, alert and charged, ready for anythin'.

We located the vent, opened it and slid in. Leo first, then Mike, me bringin' up the rear, one last scan of the area to make sure we were still going undetected.

"I fixed their cameras with a looped image," Donnie was explaining. "It'll look like everything's still fully operational to the guards watching. And for the alarms, I simply re-routed the – "

Mikey glanced back at me as Don continued in an incomprehensible stream of techno-babble, rolling his eyes playfully. I grinned back. Ok Donnie, whatever.

I slid out after my brothers, Leo spinning quickly behind a set of pipes, Mikey ducking down behind some crates. I moved upwards, grabbing the door frame and swinging up onto the exposed ducts above, quickly surveying the room we'd found ourselves in. Man it was _hot_ in here, the air dry and heavy around my face. Some sort of basement, it looked like, dark and shadowy, walls splashed with flickering orange light, exposed piping and crates of storage all over it. And a hum, a crackling, like – like –

Mikey glanced up at me, eye ridges lifted.

_Fire._

In front of us. A massive, wide iron tube heading straight into the ceiling. Around the edges of it came the splashing orange glow. Of course. Don's plans had shown the chimney was in the center of the building, starting at ground level and moving all the way through it, up into the sky above. We were behind it.

Leo locked eyes with me, then darted forward, graceful as flame, so quick if I'd blinked it woulda looked like he just vanished, then reappeared a few feet away, obscured from the rest of the room behind a trolley crate of cannisters. I followed, then Mikey and within a few moments we were far enough around to see the huge yawning mouth of the chimney, flames roaring in a voice so furious we could feel the heat of its breath even concealed as we were.

A couple of guys were in front of it, struggling with long, bulky objects wrapped tightly in strips of black material. Bending at the knees they got one lifted, grunting with the exertion, and heaved it into the chimney where the flames swallowed it up whole.

I exchanged glances with my brothers as we watched them, Leo's eyes narrowing, Mikey's brow furrowing. The mugs dusted their hands off, bent to get another one, hoisting it into the air and it flipped sideways, their arms encircling it.

"Those packages – " Leo murmured, so soft it could just have been in my head. "They look like – "

He didn't finish, just whirled to look at me. I stared back at him for a long moment. My fists suddenly tightened.

"We gotta find Amber," I heard myself snarl. "_Now._"

**XXVI**

Consciousness returned slowly at first, as though she were pushing through a web of cotton wrapped around her face, breathing the fibres into her lungs. She tried to speak but her throat was constricted with wadding.

Then suddenly it ripped through her, painfully sharp and abrupt, and she gasped, hard, felt it grip her chest like a boot had been stomped there.

In the books she devoured Amber often read that victims of ambush awoke confused, momentarily forgetting what had led them to their position of helplessness. Amber had no such lapse. She remembered everything. Professor Andrews – the mug – the syringe and the prick in her neck…

She cried out, moaned as her eyes adjusted to the harsh lighting, bright and glaring at her from every angle. She tried to shield her eyes and found she could not move. _Paralysed – was she paralysed – is that what they'd done to her? _Something hard and cold beneath her, stiff, restricting bands across her body. She could feel herself trembling.

Hearing returned next, murmuring voices that rose in volume as she blinked, trying to make out what was around her beyond the beam of lights. Shapes – bodies – people – two – no, three – of them, standing around her in discussion amongst themselves. Quiet, pleasant discussion, not even looking at her as even as she moaned and struggled again to move. One woman, two men. White lab coats. _Had they found the tracker?_ It was attached to the back of her neck, obscured by her hairline. She couldn't tell if it was still there.

"…severe malnutrition…" the woman's voice drifted up to her as she flexed her fingers, tossed her head fitfully from side to side. "…blood tests indicate Subject 3409 is also infected with the Hepatitis C virus…"

"…Well, that rules her out for Tests A, C2 and M6…" _She recognised that voice, cool and matter-of-fact_. "However, it makes her an excellent candidate for D1. I am keen to see how a Hep C carrier responds to blood contamination on that level."

"Who – " she tried to speak, gagged on her tongue, swallowed thickly and tried again. "Who has – "

"She's awake," the same male voice, clipped. "Let's move on this. I want her ready to begin in an hour."

They moved forward, obscuring the lights. She saw them clearly now – Professor Andrews, face expressionless as he leaned towards her. She cringed, gagged, not wanting him to touch her. _She felt so cold_. But he did not touch her, simply frowned and fiddled with something across her chest. She looked down, whimpering. She was strapped tight to a bench, completely naked. Panic exploded in her ears then and she jerked violently against her restraints, still not able to scream, a strangled whine hissing over her tongue. A hot wetness spilled down her legs and Andrews leapt back, brushing violently at the hem of his lab coat, scowling with disgust.

"Christ, they're no better than animals," he muttered.

Another hissing sound from her throat and he snapped his head up to look at her, realising in the same instant she did that she was laughing, laughing at him.

"I cannot express," he said in a monotone, eyes shining dully behind his glasses, "how very pleased I am you decided to drop in."

**XXVII**

"Amber's tracker is still operating." Donnie confirmed as Leo and I slid swiftly down a corridor. "She's on the floor above you guys, west end of the building. There should be an elevator shaft coming up to your right."

A low continuous growl hummed in my throat and I gripped my _sai_ tight, barely hearin' what Donnie was saying. Leo moved beside me, expression grim. There was a poundin' in my head I could barely see around, so thick it was.

Mikey had moved to the floors below, to a cluster of rooms Donnie had identified as lookin' like containment units. Maybe there was someone left to save.

We reached the elevator shaft, but before Leo could jam the button there was a grinding sound from within and the numbers above the door started to light up. _Shit._

"Someone's using the elevator, Donnie," Leo murmured and faintly, I could hear the sound of keys tapping through the earpiece as Donnie hurried to find us another way.

"Quick," I snarled and Leo shot me a warning look. _Not now, Fearless._

"Take the next left, there's another shaft that leads up." Donnie said and we moved.

_Shouldn't have put her in this situation_, the thought was chasin' its own tail in my head, _should've tried another way._

Leo refused to meet my glare as we opened the other vent and slipped in. He knew it too.

"Uh- guys – I think I found Amber's friend in the files." Donnie's voice was wavering. "Philipino woman, mid-thirties, has given birth – "

"What does the file say?" Leo hissed, voice echoing against the smooth walls of the shaft as we slithered along it.

"Well – " Donnie continued to hesitate, damn him. "There seems to be four stages that the files here go through. Chronologically - Preliminary, In Progress, Complete and – uh – Terminated."

We might've paused for a fraction of a second. I still couldn't speak over the burr in my throat.

"What does it say, Donnie." Leo's voice was calm, quiet in the long cool dark of the shaft.

"Terminated."

Leo cast a look back at me, at once remorseful and furious. I got the feelin'.

**XXVIII**

Michelangelo quietly pushed out the grille covering the shaft and slid out, onto the tiles below, landing in a crouch, eyes darting about him and scoping the environment.

Just around the corner was the armed door, guarded by nightwatchmen. Then, if he kept on heading straight down and away from them, he should come to the rooms Donnie had been speaking of.

He was tingling as he moved off down the dark corridor, swift and silent. He always felt like this on one of their missions, a thrill that pulsed through his veins, kept him on edge and ever in anticipation of what was to come. He loved their missions, the opportunity to flex his ninja muscle and whup some bad guy butt besides. And it looked like there was some real bad guys behind this operation!

The corridor turned again, and Michelangelo found himself faced with another long corridor, this one lined with heavy steel doors. _Bingo._

"Got it, Donnie." He whispered and Donnie responded with a faint crackle.

"Excellent. The files alone aren't evidence enough to submit to the police – besides the bare details they don't have enough information. We'll need a testimony. And if what you guys saw in the basement was what you thought it was, we need to get these people out now."

"Gotcha", Michelangelo darted down the corridor, pulling up near the first door he came to. Each one had a small window pane in it, _like in an institution,_ he thought, a little above Michelangelo's line of sight. He had to strain on tiptoe to peek in.

What he saw in there made him jerk back, stomach churning, an uncomfortable strain in his chest.

"Whoah!" He couldn't help gasping.

"What is it?"

"Dude, this is seriously messed up." He whispered, moving to the next door, heart pounding. A look inside revealed a similar sight. "I don't think a lot of these people are in any state to go anywhere, Don."

"What do you mean?"

"They're - " he couldn't find words for it, words to describe the sick feeling swelling inside him, the nausea that constricted his throat. " – they're deformed." The other windows revealed the situation was the same for almost all of the prisoners. "Man – "

"What do you mean 'deformed'?" Donnie sounded impatient, tense. Michelangelo stopped his inspection, the earlier thrill of excitement completely gone now, replaced only by a sick fear and horror.

"I mean – I don't know – some of them got growths all over them – some have burns – some of them only have half a face, Don!" Michelangelo didn't realise his voice was pitching higher until Donatello warned him.

"Hang on," Donatello said urgently and then was silent, leaving Michelangelo alone in the haunted darkness of the awful place, surrounded on all sides by people twisted and contorted to unrecognisable forms. He gripped his _nunchakus_, wished Leonardo or Raphael was there to back him up. At first he'd been thrilled to be sent off on his own, now he was sorely wishing one of the others had taken on this part of the job. He'd never wanted to see anything like this, he thought miserably, didn't think this sort of thing could even happen – and why, and _how_, how could anyone do this – could anyone stand by and watch it being done?

After a few moments that seemed like an eternity, the darkness around him seeming to grow heavier, Donatello returned.

"Leo and Raph are on their way to Amber, but I think they're about to start experimenting on her. I got into their communications systems and overheard them discussing it – they video and record everything – _hey!_" Donatello seemed to realise something, for his voice pitched upwards in excitement, but then he went on. "I'm going to create a diversion by setting off one of the alarms in another part of the building. I need you to take out the guards in your area. Can you handle it, Mikey?"

Michelangelo didn't answer for a long moment. He was staring at the door behind which, moments before, he'd seen what had once been an old man, bent double with painful, swollen protrusions pressing out of his flesh, along his arms and legs – and one down his side that, he'd realised with a jolt, was a malformed hand, bursting from his ribcage.

"Mikey?" and he started.

"I can handle it, Don," he whispered grimly, removing his _nunchakus_ from his belt, all brightness gone from his blue eyes.

**XXIX**

Professor Andrews scowled as a red light on the wall above the door began to flash, accompanied by a low _whoop-whoop_ sound.

"Another security breach?" He grumbled. "That's two in one week – " He turned to Amber where she lay strapped against the bench, silent and staring at the ceiling. " – you wouldn't have anything to do with this, would you? You seem to possess a crude sort of intelligence…"

She didn't reply. Refused to. Wouldn't look at him as he laid out the equipment – cold, cruel looking surgical tools, test tubes containing mysterious substances, sealed flasks of something nameless, marked with alarming looking pictures. She was freezing in the cool air of the laboratory, but gritted her teeth and tried to still her shivering.

The other scientists had left, leaving her and Andrews alone, except for the big guy, the guard – the mug who'd tried to grab her. He stood by the door, arms folded, gazing at her with a smug grin.

"I'd better go check this out myself." Andrews laid down the syringe he'd been about to load and moved to the door. "Watch her." He instructed the mug sharply, who levelled his eyes at Amber and grinned nastily.

**XXX**

Somewhere in the distance, an alarm blared.

A moment later Donnie was urgently whisperin' his plan to us, revealin' what Mikey had just discovered.

I could feel the hot thread of my fury tug back tight and hard. _I was gonna kill these guys and so help me, if they'd even so much as touched Amber, I'd make it slow and painful…_

The shaft widened out, stretching off to the right and left of us, before us a grille letting in a square of pale light. Leo slid forward, coming to a stop just in front of it and I moved in beside him, leanin' forward to see what it revealed.

A laboratory. Like the one I'd seen through the window the other day. Small but spacious, filled with gleaming, nasty looking equipment. In the centre then – I couldn't help the snarl that ripped through my throat and Leo slapped a hand on my wrist urgently – Amber, naked and strapped to a bench, tipped upright. Pale and shiverin' as the muscle at the door moved towards her. I recognised him all right and my whole body tensed, ready to leap right through the grille and cleave his head from his shoulders.

Leo again restrained me and I rounded on him, ripping his hand off me savagely, shooting the question at him with my eyes. He pointed sharply with one finger and I looked. A table full of surgical tools, right next to the mug's left arm. He wasn't more than a foot away from Amber. If we went in hell for leather now, raisin' a ruckus, he could easily grab her.

I eased back, the pounding in my head still beating strong enough to bruise, waited as Leo began to work quietly at unscrewing the grille.

The mug stood in front of Amber, hands on hips and sneering at her.

"You are one ugly bitch." He jeered. "How did you get so fuckin' ugly?"

Her eyes were fixed somewhere up at the ceiling. A constant tremor coursed through her skinny body. "I been livin' on the streets shooting smack for the last ten years," she replied, then levelled her gaze at him, half-smirking. "What's your excuse?"

He backhanded her, arm lashing out so fast it was a blur and her head snapped back against the bench. I jerked forward again and Leo whipped a restraining arm across my plastron. I was gripping my _sai_ so tight I thought my knuckles would split. _This scumbag was mine_.

Her head lolled back around, blood running in two long streaks from her nostrils. She coughed, shook her head a little. He moved closer, one hand either side of her head, breathing into her face. _Come on Leo._ He was working the edge of the grille with the blade of his _katana_, far too slow for my liking. I wanted to jam my _sai_ between it and the wall, rip the whole goddamn thing out.

"You know," the mug leered. "If you wasn't so fuckin' ugly, I _might_ let you persuade me to help you outta here."

I think she laughed, a raspy little sound in her throat. "Don't you know ugly girls gotta work harder?"

"Yeah right," he scowled now, furious he couldn't intimidate her. Buddy, you don't know who you're dealin' with. "Now, bitch. You _will_ tell me who jumped me the other night." One of his big ham fists lashed out and retrieved a scalpel from the table, and he brandished it under her nose.

She managed to shrug, barely shifting against those restraints. Leo was almost done and I could feel myself twitchin', keen to introduce myself to this guy. "Guardian angel, I guess."

Again, he lashed out and backhanded her, again her head snapped back and my vision went red.

"You got anymore smart ass remarks before I cut your fuckin' tongue out?" he hissed, gripping her throat tight and jamming her head back against the bench.

"Just one." She smiled then, her teeth shiny red. "I got Hep C."

She spat a mouthful of blood at him then, directly into his eyes.

He leapt back, shouting and screaming, frantically floundering at the air then at his eyes, swiping at the blood. I wasn't waitin' anymore. The grille snapped easily under my push, loosened by Leo's work and I leapt forward in the lab, skimming across the tiles, _sai_ ready to strike, head lowered and pointed forward like a battering ram. _Mine_.

The mug had grabbed a towel, was rubbing his eyes desperately, yowling and shrieking, then yelping like a kicked puppy as the pommel of my _sai_ connected with his gut. Behind me, Leo was releasing Amber form her bonds and she sagged into his arms, slumping against him gratefully. He'd look after her. I'd look after this creep.

He blinked around the red that streaked his gaze, narrowed on me, still wheezing. I sheathed my _sai_, suddenly overcome with the alarming calm that meant I was too far gone to come back. I waited for him to recover, to realise he was under attack. I wanted him to fight back. I'd enjoy it even more that way.

It didn't take him long.

He lunged at me, growling and I didn't dodge. Instead I lunged right back, right into him, grabbing one arm and twisting it, throwing him right off balance. Elbow to the ribs, fist to the face, then two roundhouse kicks in quick succession. He spun backwards, crashing back down into the tiles, skidding and ramming up against a small metal table, loaded with equipment, knocking it backwards where it shattered across the floor.

I waited, heaving.

He just lay there, groaning.

I advanced on him, breathing heavily. He didn't move. He was over. Finished.

"Get up," I spat at him. Nothing. I grabbed his shirt and shook him. "Get up, scumbag!"

He batted at the air in front of him, moaned and his eyes rolled back in his head. Fury rocketed through me, primal, echoing like a scream in my head. No way was he getting off that easy.

All restraint gone, I pummelled him, heard the thick crunch of my knuckles against the hard spots of his body, the _thwump_ and give on the soft. The red on his face was soon mixed with his own blood, bright beneath those damn lights, and pungent, metallic stink that soon filled my nostrils and drove me crazier. Back and forth his head snapped, his body slumped heavier and heavier in my grip. I didn't know what Leo and Amber were doing, I didn't _care_, I just wanted this guy to suffer and keep on sufferin', sufferin' for the part he'd played in this revoltin' crime.

Finally there was a hand on my shoulder and I whirled, panting, ready to dole out more of the same.

It was Leo, Leo gazing at me sombrely, calmly. He didn't say anything, didn't tell me to stop, didn't shake his head or start goin' off at me for being uncontrolled. He just regarded me and slowly, heavily as though I were floatin' back down to earth, I calmed, my breathing slowed. I stood there with the mug's broken and battered body at my feet, my knuckles dripping and that growl in my throat dying away.

"You don't want to split your knuckles." Leo said softly. _The hell I didn't,_ I wanted to spit back, but then I remembered Amber spitting her blood all over him. _Christ, Amber._

She was watching the scene with a curious intentness on her face, her eyes wide and staring. Leo had wrapped her in a lab coat and the blood on her face had dried, reddish-brown against the whiteness of her skin. She came forward, almost floating, as though in a trance, gazing down at the prone body leaking fluids all over those nice clean tiles.

"How'd you like that, fucker." She hissed at him.

There was sound behind us. The door opening.

Leo and I spun around and Amber ducked down against the floor, lab coat trailing in the blood.

A tall, lean guy in a lab coat entered, starting back in alarm when he surveyed the mess before him.

"My God," he cried on catching sight of us, stumbling backwards and unable to tear his eyes away. "What – what – "

"It's over." Leonardo said coldly, taking a step forward, hands clenched by his sides. His stance was authoritative, inarguable. "You've been found out. There's no use trying to escape. We have all the evidence we need."

"What are you?" the guy replied in horror, stumbling toward us, slowly taking in the sight of his shattered equipment, his mug lying bleeding on the floor and me, teeth bared and him in my sights. I wanted to kill them all.

His face collapsed in terror then and he spun on his heel, making swiftly for the door.

As a ninja, you're trained to kill clean, swift and silent. Even I could manage it, most of the time. Even when I didn't, I still used skill to subdue, to silence their cries, put them quickly out of commission.

Amber had no training.

With a blood-curdling shriek she lurched after the guy before Leo or I could move,

Her knees shook violently as she raised both arms above her head, clutching a bone chisel, bringing it clumsily down into him. It crashed akwardly into his skull, at an angle and he screamed in a sound that tore at my eardrums, dropping heavily forward onto his knees. He kept on screaming, raising a dumbstruck hand to his head. She hadn't been strong enough to drive it in all the way, to finish him in one blow. Blood spurted from the wound, running down over his cheeks and ears, into his eyes, pooling on the white of his collar. And still he kept on screaming, as Amber kept her grip on the chisel, tugging at it, trying to dislodge it from his head. She just wasn't strong enough.

I think we were both struck a little dumb because it was a moment before either of us could move, Leo gently but firmly grasping hold of her wrists and pulling her away from the guy, gazing at me grimly above her head as though I'd had something to do with it.

I was still dazed from the battle frenzy I'd been in, trying to clear my head as we moved out into the corridor, Leo lifting Amber up into his arms. She didn't protest, just lay there limp, like a rag doll, head sagging against his shoulder. Someone musta heard that guy's screams – it was time to go.

**XXXI**

Michelangelo stopped, panting, _nunchakus_ hanging from his grip.

The guards lay, unconscious, on the tiles before him.

Michelangelo had been angry at thugs they'd dealt with before. Some of the atrocities they acted against the world – well, how could you be anything _but_ angry?

But this had felt different.

The anger had risen in him like a wave until finally it had no choice but to crash outwards, through his fists and legs.

It'd been easy, of course. They were hired muscle, not trained fighters.

And smashing their heads had felt good.

But inside he still felt sick, uneasy. He trembled now as he paused in the hallway, stomach bubbling away, heart heavy. He tucked his weapons away and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Donatello's voice piped up in his ear.

"Everythin' ok, Mikey?"

"Yeah," it wasn't… but it would be. "Guards down."

"Good. Get out of there. Take who you can with you. Leo and Raph are headed for the roof. They've got Amber. You move."

Michelangelo breathed out, bent over one of the prone bodies, retrieved an access key card from his belt. Donatello continued, his voice unable to suppress a twinge of excitement and pride.

"I managed to uncover the full records of archived tapes and videos. I've sent them onto the FBI and the NYPD with the files as well." He explained.

"Cool, Donnie," Michelangelo said numbly, turning back down the corridor to where the cells lined the walls. He wasn't really listening.

"Make it quick, Mikey, they'll be there soon."

His breathing starting to slow, Michelangelo walked down the line of cells until he came to one door, almost in the middle. Checking through the little window to make sure it was the one he remembered, he swiped the key card and the door buzzed open.

"How many are fit to leave, Mike?" Donnie queried and Michelangelo pushed the door open, the cell's occupant glancing up from where she huddled in a corner, wrapped into a tight little bundle, whimpering.

She could only have been six or seven at most. A little black girl with a harelip. She trembled in her corner as Michelangelo crossed over to her.

"Just one." He said heavily to Don, then knelt before the little girl and looked into her dark brown eyes with his own, smiling gently.

After a moment, she relaxed and did not protest when he bundled her into his arms. "Come on," he murmured in the dark silence of the cell. "Let's get you to a hospital."

**XXXII**

Panic had set in on the lower floors so we headed for the roof. Below us, voices rose, alarms were sounded, footsteps echoed down corridors. Not so far away, a fleet of sirens was blaring. Headed our way, I think. Good ol' Donnie.

Amber gasped as we burst onto the late winter night, that awful chimney still smokin' away into the sky. Leo put her down gently and she swayed on her feet a moment, smeared in blood and lookin' like something outta a horror movie. But then, I don't suppose I looked much better.

"Did you find Maria?" she asked, her voice sounded thick and faraway, fingertips of one hand brushing up against her forehead. Leo looked at me, mouth set in a straight line. I sighed, deflated at last.

"There was nothin' to find." As blunt as the words were, I spoke 'em gently.

Amber's forehead creased, she turned to blink at me blearily in the half light.

"What?"

Now my eyes flickered to Leo. He remained silent, standing there and watching us, ready if he were needed.

"She's been – uh – they've – they've," the words were too hard. I spat them out in a rush. "She's been disposed of. Cremated."

And still she stared at me, confused, eyes dark, dried blood flaking off her upper lip.

"I don't – " she stammered, " – I don't understand."

I ground my teeth, struggled to speak. Beatin' someone senseless was easier than this. My hands moved up to grip my skull as though I could rip the words out. Leo saved me.

"That's what they do once they finished testing on them" he said softly, and she whipped around to gaze at him, breath misting on the air. "They cremate them to get rid of the bodies."

For a long moment she didn't react. Just stood there, gaping silently, panting. Slowly, realisation dawned on her face, spreading outwards across her features. Her eyes widened and her head swivelled around and upwards to gaze in mute horror at the chimney, belching its endless black vomit out into the air. How many months has it been smokin', emptyin' its dirty secret into the sky, while we moved around it, never realisin'?

Amber was sick, violently, onto the roof, bending over double and choking around her sobs. An expression of sorrow, of remorse, flits across Leo's face as he looks up at that chimney before he looks across at me, a silent question in his sad eyes.

I nod, and he moves away noiselessly, swiftly to the edge of the roof, dropping down over the side of it. I watch him go, then turn to Amber. She's still bent over, gripping her waist painfully, crying, a wretched sound that tears me up inside.

I touch her gently but she doesn't react, doesn't flinch. So I grip her shoulders, make her straighten. Her tears mingle with the dried blood, her eyes are swollen and red. She will not look at me as I draw her close. "Hang onto me," My shell's too bulky for her to cling to my back. I'll have to hold her across the front.

She crumples against my plastron, limp and obedient, arms wrapped around my neck. I move to the edge of the roof, survey my passage down as police cars tear into the street, sirens still blaring.

"I won't drop you." I whisper in her ear.


	13. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

**XXXVIII**

Professor Andrews lived.

He was rushed to hospital, spent a few hours in surgery, got sewn back up, and lived.

He was declared unfit to stand trial though, on account of his bein' a vegetable.

Fittin', really.

Amber reckoned it couldn't have turned out better for him than if she'd planned it.

The organization – BioGenetics Development, Research and Testing Corporation – were big time creeps, involved in all sorts of illegal shit. Testing various drugs, diseases and bacteria, viruses and other nasties, including genetics experimenting. These were the kind of creeps who decided that animal activists were right – testing products intended for human use on animals just didn't make sense. Problem was, they just couldn't get enough volunteers for such dangerous tests.

They figured no one would notice if a few vagrants and criminals in the eyes of the law went missin'.

They were right. No one had.

The FBI tried to hush it up, but the NYPD were there first and within days it was splashed all through the media. They connected the little girl Mikey had freed with the whole affair and she became the unwittin' poster child for indignant citizens everywhere. Nothin' but a kid that nobody wanted, no parents around and her grandad too senile to notice when she wasn't there. Most of her time was spent muckin' about on the streets, and it made her an easy target. She was pounced on by charities and organizations and soon enough the donations came pourin' in from across the nation. Ended up bein' around fifteen grand, not bad for a minority kid with a harelip. Imagine if she'd been white and pretty.

As for the rest – they were taken into hospital and rushed to other research facilities, where they had to undergo more tests and examinations to see how much healin' could be done.

Most of them were unable to live without constant care and supervision. Some were in continuous pain. Some had gone completely around the bend.

Hell, killin' 'em probably woulda been kinder.

Of course, no one could expect that this spelled the end for the entire corporation. The CEO denied any knowledge of the whole affair, claiming he'd approved funding only for your average run-of-the-mill animal testing facility.

True? Not likely. But then, I've always been the cynical type.

But the paperwork was clean.

People were horrified, of course. Horrified and disgusted and outraged. And they fuckin' loved it. The story ran for weeks, fuelled as much by the public's perverse and ghoulish interest as by the revealing of each sordid detail.

Given that most of the victims had been homeless, without family, forgotten and rejected, and BioGen had neglected to keep a record of their names, they remained nameless and faceless. Photos of them were splashed everywhere but it wasn't them the people saw – just the wretched husk, deformed and mutated, that held them.

I never felt they really got justice.

**XXXIX**

"Raphael is taking you back up tonight, isn't he?"

Amber jumped but didn't look up. She raised the cigarette to her lips and took another draw. There was a rustle against stone and Leonardo lowered himself down besides her. They were sitting in the trophy room, dark and quiet, out of sight of the rest of the den.

"That's the deal." She confirmed. "Definitely time for me to be on my way."

They did not look at each other. Amber's gaze was concentrated on her toes, the cracked and yellowed nails there, the trail of smoke that snaked the air in front of her. Leonardo tilted his head to survey the shelving that housed the memories of past battles won and adventures had. He sighed.

"You are – you are welcome to stay longer, if you wish." His voice was strained and stiff, but sincere. She smiled, exhaled.

"Thank you, Leonardo." She replied with strong gratitude but she had no intention of doing so and he knew it.

They sat, he on his knees, palms flat against his thighs and she with one leg crossed over the other, arms folded. The silence grew so that beyond them they could hear the sounds of Michelangelo exclaiming over the newest game level he'd conquered. It made them both chuckle.

"I'm not sure what Michelangelo's going to do with his latent maternal extinct once you're gone." Leonardo said wryly and she snorted.

"This wasn't exactly – a victory – for us." He said hesitantly, after a moment. "In fact, overall, it turned out to be a pretty botched up affair. A lot of things went wrong. In many ways we were sloppy. And the outcome – was not – entirely satisfying."

She shrugged, stubbed her cigarette out.

"That's the way the bee stings sometimes, baby." Underneath the flippancy there was an undercurrent of something darker.

"What for you, now?"

"Same old, same old," she stretched her legs in front of her and leaned back on her hands. "Go back to my beat, hope it hasn't been nicked by someone new. Work. Drink. Smoke. Dance. " She was evasive, and glanced at him from the corner of her eye.

"Mmmm." His eyes ran over the sharp shining edge of The Shredder's helmet. "How are you… feeling… these days?" He was evasive too.

She sighed. "No, no I no longer feel an overwhelming physical yearning for heroin, if that's what you're asking me. "

He half-smiled and it irritated her.

"Why do you care what I do about that, anyway?" She snapped at him. He didn't respond for a long moment, instead unfolded his legs and rose, turning to leave. He laid a hand on her shoulder, a strong and companionable grip. She turned her head upwards to look at him, into the feeling amber eyes that gazed down at her in the semi-light.

"Because my brother does." He responded simply and then, with a final squeeze, let her go and moved to the door. "All the best for the journey ahead of you. I hope you find what you wish for."

**XL**

Donatello self-consciously started filling a plastic bag with valium, new fits, cotton wool and alcohol swabs while she fidgeted awkwardly, outside the old train carriage that served as his laboratory, various scrap metals and half-formed gadgets littering the area around it like particularly esoteric modern art efforts. She had had the least interaction with this one, and the unexpected thoughtfulness behind his efforts touched her.

The cluster of computers flickered and hummed as he hit a button and the printer whirred to life. A quiver of concentration set on his brow as he folded the sheaf of papers and tucked them inside the bag.

"There's uh, there's some information in there for you on – you know – your, uh, condition."

She thought distantly how she had the option here to be angry, to scorn him for the gesture, as though she needed pity or help. Instead she just felt something warm and tingling pool downwards from her chest and she reached over the rickety shelving that housed the three spare keyboards and assorted extra hard drives and cupped his cheek, feeling the cool, pebbled skin smooth beneath her fingertips.

"Thanks, baby."

He half-grinned and waved a hand to dismiss it. He hesitated a little before continuing carefully:

"So, uh, Hep C is a blood borne virus but from what you've described you don't share needles."

"No, I don't." she agreed. "But I used to, when I was younger. All the time. I've probably had it for years."

"Oh." He looked downwards at the desk, fidgeted a little with a stick of ram, scratched the back of his neck. "Did you – uh – did you know before – "

"No." she was short. "But I wasn't that surprised."

"I'm sorry."

She shrugged. "It's one of the hazards, baby. You make choices sometimes – between waitin' til you can get your hands on a clean fit or fixin'. If you know the risks, you can't really cry about it later."

"Well, uh, there should be plenty of info in there for you, and I'm sure if you ever needed it I could give you some advice – "

She laughed, a dry and husky sound. "Oh baby, I know it all. Eat lots of fruit and vegetables, get plenty of sleep, don't take drugs, don't drink, don't smoke. Basically do everything exactly the opposite I been doin' it the last few years. But thanks, you know, you're real special for offerin'."

Finally he turned his big, soft brown eyes upwards and looked at her. She thought it was the first time he'd really looked at her since she'd been there. She held his gaze and smiled at him. Shyly, he smiled back.

**XLI**

"What?" Michelangelo shrieked in a surprisingly high-pitched voice so that she winced. "But I was gonna teach you all the cheats on Mortal Kombat!"

He was hanging over the back of the sofa, face was so forlorn, so struck with mute disappointment that she felt tempted, truly tempted to fling her knapsack back down and hop onto the couch beside him. Instead she folded her arms tight across her chest and frowned, fixing her gaze downwards. "Don't make this hard for me, baby." She muttered and he acquiesced, pouting, reaching back behind him on the coffee table to pick up a foil wrapped package. "Well. I made these for ya. They're double-double chocolate chip chocolate muffins. I know you like chocolate. " He tucked them into her knapsack then threw open his arms. "C'mere," The grin was back, wide and honest and something inside her crumpled. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him fiercely. Her hands ran over the rough, patterned surface of his shell and she winced again as his muscled arms squeezed her tight and pushed the air from her lungs. He smelt cool and fresh, like cut grass, solid and warm against her. She whispered into his ear: "I think I'll miss you most of all, Scarecrow."

They'd watched _The Wizard of Oz_, singing along to _If I Only Had A Brain,_ until Raphael had strode past muttering darkly it should be Mikey's theme song. He'd then got up and proceeded to do an impersonation of the Scarecrow that had her in stitches. It had been the film that had brought both of them out of their funk immediately following the attack on BioGen. She hadn't asked him what had upset him so much and knew that it was still simmering there, below the cheery smile and sparkling eyes. She rather thought – hoped - Splinter would take care of it, once she had left and they had privacy again.

Michelangelo gave her a final squeeze and then drew back, hands on her shoulders and beaming at her.

"I was serious about that alleyway dinner delivery service." He said seriously and she laughed. "Come on, babe, I've just started to fatten you up, we can't stop now!"

"I'll think about it." She said and they both knew it meant no. They regarded each other for a long moment, her hands moving up to touch his where they rested on her shoulders and she winced, once again, and flickered her gaze away.

"Mikey – you know – you really – really took care of me and uh, I appreciate that a lot. You did a lot for me. More than I can say really. " She finally managed to tear her eyes back to him. "Thank you."

He drew her in for a final hug. "No sweat, dudette. This joint needed the drama."

**XLII**

She didn't want to do this. Would it really matter if she didn't, she argued, if she just left? He probably wouldn't notice – wouldn't care – this was way too difficult. She was getting that tight, constricted feeling across her chest just thinking about it. Amber continued to hesitate outside the screened doors until the rasping voice within startled her.

"Enter, child."

Stomach fluttering she pushed back the doors and stepped into Splinter's room, blinking against the dim softness of the candlelight. The old rat sat before a low table, composedly pouring fresh tea. She advanced nervously over the matting and stood, with the strangest feeling of being back in the principal's office, hands behind her back. One clawed hand gestured she may sit and she awkwardly lowered herself into a cross-legged position, tugging at the short hem of her dress and hoping the dimness of the room hid all sins.

He motioned she should take one of the cups and she obeyed, biting her lip at the heat of it in her palm, for it had no handles.

"I just wanted to say thank you." She began and he nodded.

"But of course. Our home is always open to friends in need."

There was a lot she wanted to say. A lot she thought she should say. That she was awed and overwhelmed by their world. That she understood why they kept themselves secret. That she could be trusted. That they had been generous beyond words. That Michelangelo needed to talk to him.

"Thank you." Was all that she said, dumbly. He nodded again and they both drank.

"I will speak to Michelangelo," he said then, surprising her once more.

**XLIII**

"Ready?" Raphael had been distant again but she'd moved from the sofa to his room. Splinter's brows rose very high on his head until it had been revealed that she occupied the cushions beneath his hammock. That the rat's thoughts had wandered down that path had made her deeply uncomfortable, made it difficult for her to look at Raphael and she had accepted his stony silence without arguement.

The sleeping arrangement had been an unspoken agreement and it kept the nightmares from overwhelming her – nightmares of the sickening crunch of bone, the shrieking screams and the wild eyes, the blood that obscured them, the giddy wave of maniacal satisfaction she'd felt witnessing these effects of her own actions. The desire to lift the weapon again and again and again.

Perhaps he was revolted by her actions and that was why he'd retreated once more. Not that he really was that different…

_Trauma can lead to extreme reactions_, Donatello had said, but they'd all given her the briefest of strange looks, were just ever so slightly uneasy for a while.

A lot of things had gone wrong, Leonardo had said. They'd expected all the attention would be on Amber. They should've gone completely undetected. Without the solid evidence Donatello had later uncovered, they had nothing to hand onto the police. If they'd given Donatello just a little more time, he would've uncovered it without the need for them to move in at all.

But then again, they thought there would be people to save and they hadn't wanted to wait for the police to act.

She dreamed of Maria as well. Maria's liquid dark eyes and round face, her cheery smile and short, shapely legs. She dreamed she was on her way to her beat and passes Maria, who calls out to her and gives her a hug and laughs _how are you, my friend_, _hope you go home with a sore cha-cha tonight, eh_! Dreams that, when she woke, leave her feeling empty and sore, reaching out into open space for the final silvery edges of Maria's disappearing form. Raphael slept on his stomach in the hammock and when she woke with the little choking noise in her throat, her cheeks wet, he would reach an arm down to meet her searching hand and hold it. It was the most communication they had.

Until right when she was leaving.

She nodded and he motioned that they should go.

Once out of the den and on his bike, arms wrapped around him and the vibrations rattling through her, she felt alien to the city, its thrum and beat. After two weeks below ground in their insular world, not working, not using, she could hardly imagine going back to the rhythm of her old life. She wondered if she could still manage it.

He pulled into a dark alleyway, engine puttering to a halt and they sat for a moment in silence until she climbed off, brushing her hands over the back of his shoulders, the suit smooth beneath her palm. She wanted to touch his flesh.

"So – uh," he sounded as awkward as she felt, voice muffled by the heavy helmet he wore, disguising him from the world. "What are you gonna do about Maria's kid?"

Her stomach coiled and she backed up, looking down and to the side, shaking her head.

"Oh hell, you know, I don't even know where she lives. It's not my responsibility. I'm not going to deal with it. You do it. She's got a police record. You guys know what to do. I don't. I can't."

The pause between them was heavy; above them a cat ran along a fire escape.

"Let me know what you find out." She finished and he nodded, a quick, jerky movement. Another long silence and she scuffed her boot against the uneven gravel.

"Take off your helmet so I can say a proper goodbye." She tried for some of the old sass but it fell flat. He shook his head once.

"Can't. Too – " he began but she cut him off, exasperated.

"Come on, Raphael, don't start this shit, man. Just take it off." She didn't like the pleading note that sounded beneath the irritation, but he complied after a moment's hesitation.

She looked at his face, the frown that seemed to constantly hover on his brow, the grim set to his mouth, the intensity in his dark eyes and the mottled grey-green of his flesh. She had once envisioned him as tall as a tree and just as wide, blonde haired and grizzled, scarred all over from a lifetime of brawling. The memory had a smile flicker across her lips.

"Will I see you soon?" she asked, and fumbled for a cigarette to hide the tremble that took her whole body, not just her hands. She was out.

"I'll be around." He was non-committal. She wondered, with a pang, if she might not see him again.

"Don't be a stranger." It came out as a whisper and he looked away, down at his handlebars, grip tightening.

"I won't." And there was a promise in his tone. He looked back up to her and she stepped closer to him, so that her thigh brushed his knee. His gaze wavered as she got closer but finally fixed directly on hers. Not feeling wholly in control, she reached out and took his face in both hands, her thumbs smoothing his cheeks, closing the distance between them completely.

The kiss still took her by surprise even though she initiated it. His mouth was a lot wider than she had ever experienced before, the flesh rougher. But something about it felt good and right and so she kept pressing into it as he stiffened against her, drew back, then relaxed and gave into it. She had not kissed anyone in so long. It felt strange and wonderful; not just kissing a bizarre inhuman creature in an alley, but kissing at all and so she kept on, and finally he yielded and responded, tongue just barely flickering against hers.

They finished and she stepped back, suddenly embarrassed. "Don't get used to freebies." She half-snapped, half-joked, turning away from him and fumbling again for a cigarette that wasn't there.

He said nothing, but she heard the sliding sound of his helmet being replaced.

"Well," she said, knowing how forced it sounded. "I gotta go stock up on smokes before I go nuts. See you soon?"

He gunned the motor and she turned around to take a last look at him, his face hidden beneath the blank and uncompromising visage of the helmet. "Take care of yourself." He told her. "I'll be watching."

Then he was gone, tearing out of the alley and back into the night.

**XLIV**

Amber paced up and down in front of Thistleway's for a good ten minutes before finally deciding to go in. It was early afternoon and the streets were lively, a busking group of singing kids inspiring something of a dance celebration. It was warm, truly warm and people were cheerful. Spring was almost there.

She'd argued with herself over this decision for days and just when she'd made up her mind once and for all, another doubt twisted her. She paused, tapped one heel frantically on the pavement, smoked and growled at herself.

Stupid, to be so scared! Why was she scared of these do-gooder jerks, anyway? When had she ever been scared of them? She talked herself up, took a quick swig of gin to brace herself and then ran up the stairs before she could change her mind again.

"I'm here to see Rachel." She told the fellow behind the counter and he smiled at her and moved into the back offices to pass the message on.

She waited, still tapping one foot, hands thrust deep in the pockets of the big coat it really was getting too warm to keep wearing. She had almost decided to walk out again when Rachel emerged, smiling.

"Amber, I'm so pleased to see you!" She said, welcoming, coming around behind the desk to take Amber's hand and shake it. "I'm really glad you've decided to apply."

"I just want to make a couple of things really clear," Amber jerked back, jutted her hips out defensively. "Before we get started. I'm not quittin' the streets and that work will always be number one. Okay?"

Rachel nodded. "Absolutely. This is only a part time position and we understand you have other priorities in your life."

Amber nodded agitatedly, still not convinced. "And I don't want anyone preachin' at me or tryin' to tell me how to live my life, you got it?"

Rachel nodded again, face grave. "That just won't happen, Amber. You're the expert in this position. This place is changing. It would be really great if you could be part of what makes it change. Come on, come out the back here and let's do this interview."

**XLV**

I must be goin' mental.

Three days later and I can still feel the warmth of that kiss.

I keep wipin' at my face but it just won't go away. Feels like others can see it – I keep waitin' for Mikey to start ribbin' me.

He don't, of course. This is just downright embarrassin'.

My neighbourhood skyline is no longer broken by the thick black fog of that smokin' chimney. I wonder if Amber hears Dr Andrews scream in her dreams. I wonder if she's sorry, at all. It was only a couple of nights but still I expect to reach down and find her hand there when the den is silent and perfectly black.

The den is back to normal, as far as you can count it as ever bein' normal. The others are at ease again, the disruption is gone. But somethin' about it still feels a bit odd and displaced to me. I can still smell the conditioner she used on my cushions. She left long, pale, shimmerin' strands of hair all over the place. I pick them off the furniture everywhere I go, wrap them over and over my knuckles.

Leo leaves in two days. I'm dreadin' it. I ain't good at goodbyes. Already I'm missin' him.

I wonder if Splinter will ever name me ready to do what he's about to do. I shouldn't be surprised Leo got there first, but I wish he hadn't anyway.

The streets are still mine. I'm trying to keep low until Leo is gone but I'm beginning to get noticed. They don't fear me. Yet. They still think they can bring me down, that I'm some no-skill lucky punk they'll get the better of.

I look forward to showin' them different.

I'm stayin' away from Amber. It seems like the thing to do. Not sure what to say to her after she surprised me with that lip-smacker. My first kiss.

But I told her I'd be watchin', and I am. I'm watchin' her right now from across the street. I'm on a rooftop, crouched amongst cheap plaster sculptures, crumbling and worn away by the weather, watching as she enters the rambling old brownstone. She's put on some weight, thanks to Mikey, no longer looks quite so frail, like she might scatter to dust if you put too much pressure on her.

I move. Leap down the side of the building, bounce off the opposite wall, hit the street. Wait for the lull in traffic then cross, nothin' more than a silver flash in the eyes of the oncoming cars. Move inbetween the brownstone and its neighbour, craning my neck upwards where the night sky peeks indigo down at me. Then I climb. Up the fire escape of the building next door, right up to where a little old lady keeps plastic pot plants on her little balcony, the plants in them dead and withered from the long winter. She's inside, watching the television with the volume up all the way. I crouch outside, sheltered by the night, and gaze into the window opposite.

Amber sits on a lumpy mattress, a little furrow of concentration between her brows, her lower lip stuck out. She looks kinda childish like that, almost innocent.

A cord is wrapped around her upper arm so the flesh below it bulges, the tangled web of scars pink and red. The thumb of her opposite hand is depressed on the syringe, its thin silver point stuck into the crook of her elbow. She finishes the shot and pulls the syringe out, sighs and leans back against the wall, a dreamy little smile washing over her features, wiping the care and concentration away. Now she looks almost pure.

Some things just never change.


End file.
